


If These Delights Thy Mind May Move

by RK_Anon (Rochelle_Templer)



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Fluff, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Inktober, M/M, also some smuttier chapters, and plenty of angst, because the rating will go all over the place from G to Mature, lots of romantic fluff, ratings will be given at the beginning of each chapter, that is why it's not rated
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-11-21
Packaged: 2020-11-10 14:57:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 28
Words: 33,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20853650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rochelle_Templer/pseuds/RK_Anon
Summary: A series of prompt fics for Ineffable Husbands Inktober.





	1. And back again

**Author's Note:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: At the Ritz.
> 
> This takes place just after the last scene on the show. 
> 
> Rating: G

“…so then, I tried again and ended up in the body of a televangelist. He and his ‘congregation’ were singing the most awful hymn, and believe me, I am being generous when I call it that. It was all so terribly tacky. Now, be honest, Crowley, your lot had something to do with televangelists, didn’t they? Because I refuse to believe that Gabriel would have tolerated….”

Aziraphale paused. He was just about to take another bite from his delightful tiramisu when he noted how Crowley was staring off in the distance, apparently only half listening.

Come to think of it, this whole meal had seemed…off somehow from the beginning. It couldn’t have been the food. Every course had been excellent, as usual, and this selection of desserts had been heavenly…or maybe sinful. Aziraphale couldn’t make up his mind.

It also wasn’t the conversation. Now that they were free from the worries about Armageddon and their imminent executions, they could relax. Granted, Crowley didn’t say much, but there was nothing out of place about that. Crowley tended to let him dominate the conversation during their lunch dates. That is, until the serpent had had enough alcohol to loosen his forked tongue.

Speaking of which, it couldn’t be the alcohol either. The vintage they had just sampled had been exquisite. And Crowley appeared to agree with the way he had sipped at his drink with….

Then it finally fell into place, the thing that was bothering him since they had arrived.

“Crowley, dear…aren’t you going to eat anything?”

There was a loud swallow, and Crowley sat his glass down so he could study the table linens which had somehow become quite interesting to him.

“I, er…ngk….” There were a few more seconds of fumbling with his silverware before he found his words.

“Not really that hungry. Indigestion. Probably from that visit to Heaven.”

Aziraphale nodded with a knowing smirk. “Yes, I’m afraid Heaven can have that effect. And I’m not surprised that you found it unsettling to go back after all these millennia.”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, shifting in his chair so he could face the rest of the dining room again.

Aziraphale quietly ate the rest of his tiramisu. Suddenly, his adventures while finding a body to inhabit seemed far less interesting than watching Crowley. He noted how Crowley’s breaths appeared to catch in his throat and how his lips kept parting, the traces of words forming and then vanishing before they could be given a voice.

It had taken Aziraphale centuries to recognize this for what it was: Crowley had a question and was afraid to ask it.

It was something that always gave Aziraphale’s heart a painful twinge. Not because he didn’t understand the hesitation. He understood that all too well. Questions had led to far too many painful consequences for Crowley.

No, what hurt was that Crowley was afraid to ask _him_ a question. A fear Aziraphale had done his best to dispel since they had met on the wall around Eden.

“Is there something on your mind?” he asked. There was no guarantee that this indirect request would work, but at least he could find out how amenable Crowley was to talking about whatever was bothering him.

Crowley shook his head. “Nah, um…just….”

Aziraphale chose a slice of devil’s food cake for his next dessert and sliced off a large bite with plenty of frosting. He ate silently, waiting. Giving Crowley as much space as he needed.

“Did you worry that you wouldn’t make it back?” Crowley muttered. “Back to Earth, I mean. Did you worry that you wouldn’t find a body that could take you?”

Aziraphale’s brow crinkled while he sat his fork down. “I didn’t put much thought into that possibility at the time, no. I was more concerned about finding someone in Britain who would be receptive to my possessing them so I could get to Tadfield before it was too late. Madame Tracy began her séance at an opportune time.”

He picked his fork back up and cut off another bite. “While I was wandering around Earth’s spiritual realm, I found plenty of other options. It was just that most of them were in the wrong country. So it didn’t cross my mind to worry about not making it back at all.”

Crowley nodded and picked up his glass so he could take another hearty gulp of his drink. For a moment, Aziraphale had thought that the matter was closed and was ready to find a new topic to discuss.

“I worried.”

Aziraphale nearly dropped his fork. The words were murmured in the same soft voice Crowley had used to ask his question, but to Aziraphale, it was like they had been shouted. And that was enough to wake him from his comfortable stupor of pleasant conversation.

“You worried that I wouldn’t find a body in time?” he asked, although he was fairly certain that that wasn’t it. Or rather, that wasn’t quite it. Aziraphale put his fork back down.

“Or did you worry that I wouldn’t ever come back to Earth?”

Aziraphale had said it in the gentlest tone that he could, but Crowley still flinched as if he’d been slapped.

_‘Oh…Crowley, my dear….’ _

The more he thought about it, the more Aziraphale couldn’t believe that he hadn’t considered this before. Heaven hadn’t been eager to have the Apocalypse thwarted, so it was entirely possible that they could have tried to find some way to keep him out of the physical plane for good.

And if he had been yanked back to Heaven…his punishment for his getting in the way of the Great Plan could have happened a little bit sooner. A thought that must have occurred to Crowley, especially after Hell had already tried to eliminate him.

Having spent time in Earth’s spiritual ether, however, Aziraphale was glad that he could offer some honest comfort in this matter.

“It wouldn’t have been forever,” he said, placing his hand onto Crowley’s forearm. He could feel the demon tense up for a second before relaxing. Perhaps even leaning into the touch.

“I would have found a way to come back to you. Like I always do. Like I always will, I promise you.”

A smile appeared on Aziraphale’s face, the skin around his eyes crinkling. “Even if have to use the body of a televangelist to do it. Though, I would ask that you be aware of the sacrifice involved if I ever had to do that.”

Crowley turned his face toward him, a smirk on his lips. Aziraphale was certain that “cute bastard” had been said just within in his hearing, but he wasn’t going to press Crowley on it.

Instead, he picked up a plate with a slice of angel’s food cake, one that was piled with strawberries so juicy, it was stained bright red.

“Do try this. They’ve changed the recipe. And for the better, I think. I would like to see if you agree with me.”

The smirk softened into a smile as Crowley took the plate from his hands. “Sure, angel.”

Aziraphale beamed at him as they both took a generous bite from their desserts.


	2. Esse Quam Videri

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Eden
> 
> This takes place just after the rains start at the beginning of Episode One.
> 
> Rating: G

“Do you think this will stop?”

The angel blinked, a droplet of water dripping onto his cheek. “This? You mean the rain? I’m sure it will. It must.”

Crawly shivered and moved closer to the angel as the drops increased in speed and intensity. “You sure about that? Maybe She’s angry and wants to get rid of those humans.”

“Well yes, She was rather upset, but She’s already cast them out of the Garden. I’m sure She doesn’t intend to drown them now.”

The angel waved a hand out toward the wet hills in front of them. “Besides, think of all the other animals and plants out there. They would be wiped out as well. I doubt She would want that.”

Crawly shrugged, his hands going up onto his upper arms. “Maybe. Or maybe She’s changed Her mind about the whole thing. Maybe She thinks it’s all a mistake.”

The angel shook his head. “No. No, She’s upset, but She still loves this place, these creatures. Things will be better again eventually.”

Crawly nodded. He wasn’t sure about that at all. Not when he knew that Hell already had long-term designs on Earth. Then again, he doubted that he would be able to convince this angel of that, so why bother?

Suddenly, there was a terrible sound, like huge rocks crackling apart. It was accompanied by an eerie flash of white light.

Crawly shivered, his jaw trembling. This felt familiar, too familiar. There had been a roar like this in Heaven followed by a piercing light. It had happened just before he Fell. And that memory was still far too fresh in his mind.

For a moment, he was tempted to turn back into a snake and look for a tree to hide in.

“Crawly? Is there something wrong?”

Crawly knew he should answer, but instead he continued to shake silently. Then there was another rumble and burst of light. This time, he wasn’t able to stop the gasp from escaping his lips, and he began to back away.

Just as he started to move, he felt a rush of warmth as snowy feathers came closer and surrounded him.

“It’s all right,” the angel said quietly. “It’ll be over soon. You can stay with me until then.”

Crawly’s shivering abruptly stopped and was replaced with open-mouthed wonder as he stared at the angel beside him. Why was this angel sheltering him, reassuring him? Weren’t they supposed to be bitter enemies?

_‘I probably got you in trouble over the whole apple thing,’_ he thought. _‘They might have overlooked you giving away your sword, but now….’_

_‘Shouldn’t you be angry at me? Shouldn’t you be trying to Smite me for what I did?’_

_‘Why are you doing this?’_

_‘Why are you being so…kind?’_

There were so many questions that burned on Crawly’s tongue, but he only found the strength to ask one of them.

“Um…what is your name anyway?”

The angel turned his face toward him again, a fine mist coming off the curls of his hair as he did it.

“I am Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate.”

“Hang on, Eastern Gate? I didn’t see any gates. And I thought the humans left through a hole in the wall.”

“It’s not….” Aziraphale paused and slowly shook his head. “No, I suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. The Garden will most likely vanish from Earth’s physical plane before too long. There will be no need for any guardians.”

“Aziraphale,” Crawly murmured, trying the name out. It was a mouthful.

The rains picked up again, and Aziraphale used his wing to draw him closer while arching his other one over his head. Crawly’s eyes narrowed as he took in the sight.

_‘Wait…were his wings that big a few minutes ago? Almost like he grew them out. Not sure why though. It’s not really keeping the rain off him.’_

Crawly peered through the mass of fluffy feathers. It was warm and dry where he was, but the same couldn’t be said for Aziraphale.

“Your head is getting wet, angel.”

Aziraphale gave him a weak smile. “I’m fine.”

Crawly shrugged again and was about to make a comment about how soggy Aziraphale was letting his robe get. But then he saw it, a glistening on the angel’s cheeks. Were those…tears? Or was it just the rain dripping from his face? It was impossible to know which.

And it suddenly occurred to Crawly that that might have been the point.

Moved by a feeling he didn’t entirely understand, Crawly tugged his sleeve up over his hand and reached over to wipe some the excess water from Aziraphale’s hair. The angel started and looked at him with surprised eyes.

“Just drying you off a little, angel. I mean, might as well since this will be ending soon and all.”

Aziraphale gave him another wistful smile and then went back to watching the rain. It was then that a new thought popped into Crawly’s head.

A thought about how he almost wished the rains wouldn’t end any time soon.


	3. Do forget to show hospitality to strangers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: crossover.
> 
> A crossover I would love to explore more at some point is the one I went with for this chapter: Good Omens with the current BBC series of Father Brown which is set in the 1950s. 
> 
> This ficlet takes place at the end of the Father Brown episode "The Hammer of God" and has numerous spoilers for this episode. But it's not really necessary to have seen it to understand what is going on.
> 
> Rating: Mostly G although perhaps a bit of Teen due to mentions of murder.

_‘How can a man who clings so tightly to the path to God fall so far from righteousness?’_

Father Brown frowned and turned his gaze back at the village of Kembleford in the distance. When the dreadful mystery of who killed Norman Bohum began, he had been certain that it would end in tragedy. Norman was a man with an unfortunate talent for tainting the people around him with his selfish, unrepentant nature. There were many in the village who had suffered at his hands and who would have been tempted to kill him.

And a few days ago, one of them finally did. Although it was the last person Brown would have ever thought would do such a thing.

His face fell even more. For most of his investigations, he had worried that an innocent woman would hang for a crime he was confident she did not commit. It had not meant, however, that he was looking forward to discovering the person who had murdered Norman for he knew the laws of Man would not allow them to live to serve our their penance.

Still, it was a mystery that had to be solved, a question that had to be answered. And earlier that day, he had found the proof that supported the chilling theory that had formed in his mind: that Norman’s brother, a reverend of the local church, had re-enacted the sin Cain had committed onto his brother, Abel.

Father Brown let out a sigh and shook his head. Though they were professional rivals of a sort due to the differences in their faiths, that did not blind him to the fact that Reverend Wilfred Bohum was a good man, a man who sought God’s guidance in all things.

The idea that a man like that would do such a terrible thing….

“Father? You look troubled.”

Father Brown blinked and was startled to see a stranger standing next to the bench he was sitting on. The man had light, almost white, blond hair that curled and wore a cream colored coat over a tan vest and slacks.

But what truly stood out about him were his eyes. They were a blue-green that was the same color as the ocean and appeared to house a soul that was just as vast and unknowable.

Father Brown smiled at him. “Forgive me. There are many troubles in the world. I suppose I was letting my burdens show, Mr…?”

“Fell,” the man replied. “Ezra Fell. And that’s quite all right. Even priests can feel overwhelmed by their burdens.”

Fell smiled back at him, and Brown was startled again by the effect it had on him. Like he was being blessed by the gesture.

He gestured at the bench. “May I?” Brown scooted over.

“Please do. I haven’t seen you around Kembleford before. Are you looking for someone? Perhaps I could help.”

Fell shook his head. “I had some business here, but it’s finished now. I do believe though, that you still have something that you are grappling with. Would you like to talk about it?”

Father Brown studied him. On the surface, there was nothing peculiar about Fell, other than a style of dress that seemed a bit old-fashioned. Still, there was something in his demeanor, a sense of peace that he radiated, that made it easy to want to talk to him. That made him feel as if he could tell this man anything.

“I saw a man today who I have known for years and who had been God’s loyal servant do an unspeakable act,” he replied. “It was an act of passion and impulse, but…but then he tried to lay the blame for his actions on innocent people. And when I confronted him with the truth, he told me that God had guided his hands. That God had given him license to do such a wicked thing.”

Fell nodded. “And you wondered how you could have been so wrong about him?”

“No,” Father Brown said. “No, not that. I am not so naïve to think that evil cannot lurk in God’s holy spaces. No, I….” He paused and took an unsteady breath.

“I worry about the other souls under my care. If evil could corrupt this man, a man who was so fervent a follower of God, how can I keep my flock safe from similar evils? How can I protect their souls?”

Father Brown looked down at his lap and shook his head again. “I know my superiors would say that it is a sign of my weakness to wonder such things. That I ask too many questions and involve myself too much in affairs outside of the church.”

A hand touched his arm, gentle and warm and Brown looked up to see Fell gazing at him.

“No,” he said. “Do not ever think that. It’s not wrong to question when seeking guidance on what is good. And your devotion to God does not mean turning your back on humanity. You’re meant to be part of their lives this way. That is how you can protect them. By showing them God’s love through your acts of service.”

Brown smiled at him again. “You are a wise man, Mr. Fell. I take it you are a man of God yourself.”

Fell smiled back, a smile that was like the tender rays of the sun on a summer afternoon. “You could say that, yes.”

Just then, a woman with long waves of scarlet hair who was dressed in a fashionable black and red dress appeared further down the road. Even though the day was overcast, Brown noted that she wore dark sunglasses.

“I’m afraid I must go,” Fell said as he rose up. “I hope your heart will soon find peace, Father.”

“Thank you,” Father Brown said holding out his hand. “And may God bless you, Mr. Fell.”

Fell took Brown’s hand and shook it. “And you as well, Father Brown.”

He turned away and walked toward the woman waiting for him. Brown’s forehead furrowed and he was about to ask him how he knew his name when he was startled into silence by a glint of light he saw just for a second around Fell’s head.

Light that looked remarkably like a halo.

“Father, hey…”

Father Brown got to his feet and saw Sid running toward him.

“You’ve got a funny look on your face,” Sid said. “What is it?”

“Hebrews 13:2,” Father Brown said.

“What? What does that mean?”

“Never mind,” Brown said with a smile. “How about a beer? My treat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse that Father Brown mentioned also gave me the title for this chapter:
> 
> Hebrews 13:2: Do not forget to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing so some people have shown hospitality to angels without knowing it.


	4. One Touch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: reverse.
> 
> I know that this was probably slanted toward reversing the angel/demon status of Aziraphale and Crowley, but my mind went in a completely different direction. 
> 
> This chapter takes place during toward the end of Episode Six.
> 
> Rating: Mature. Nothing truly explicit, but definitely not SFW due to sexual content.

Aziraphale studied his hands. It was something he had done several times over the last couple of hours.

Despite the fact that he had switched bodies with Crowley yesterday, half the time he still expected to see the well-manicured, plumper fingers he was used to. 

And half the time, he was relieved to still see the long, slender fingers he currently had.

Of course, that was not how it had been last night. Switching bodies had been the most intimate thing he had ever done with anyone else. Far more than when he had inhabited Madame Tracy’s body. That had been pure necessity and nothing more. It helped that he had been able to maintain a mental barrier between himself and her, allowing nothing of himself to slip through if he could help it.

Aziraphale traced an index finger over the back of his hands. Even though he was the one who came up with this plan, Aziraphale was still hesitant to give up the body he had briefly thought he would never have again and had just gotten back thanks to Adam’s intervention. He made sure not to tell Crowley this though, worried that the demon might also have second thoughts they could ill-afford to have.

Technically, this was also necessity, but it was also far more personal to Aziraphale. Being Crowley, experiencing the world as Crowley did…it was unnerving. He had had to bite his tongue numerous times to stop himself from begging Crowley to reverse the process after only a few minutes of being in the demon’s body.

But he had also known what the consequences of that would be, so he hadn’t said a word about it. Instead, he concentrated on getting comfortable with Crowley’s body. At least, comfortable enough to fool Heaven and Hell into thinking he was Crowley. Keeping his thoughts focused on that goal, on the plan, had been just enough to keep his awkwardness over the whole thing tamped down.

Once it was all over though and Hell had released him back to Earth, all Aziraphale had was the waiting. Waiting for Crowley to return. Waiting to learn his fate. And that was the worst part of all of it.

Unable to think of anything else to do, he went back to Crowley’s flat. Last night, he had noticed the beautiful plants there and had wanted to spend time gazing at them. But last night there had been far too much to discuss to spare time for that.

Now, he could linger for as long as he wanted while taking in the vibrant colors and the lush floral scents. For several minutes, Aziraphale stood in the middle of the room of plants, slowly moving in a lazy circle. It was like taking a stroll through a private garden.

Then, he saw that the leaves were trembling on a plant that he had been staring at for several moments. He’d reached out his hand toward it, a gesture to calm and reassure.

But it hadn’t been his hand. It was Crowley’s. And that was the moment that it had finally sunk in. That Crowley was here, surrounding him. That he was a part of Crowley in a way that he could have never been before.

That he could touch him….

He moved to the bedroom on wobbling legs, pulling his sunglasses off as he did. Once he was there, he tossed them onto a nightstand and stared in the full length mirror in front of them. So many times, he had longed to stare into those golden serpentine eyes, but had always worried about how Crowley would take it. Now he could do so for as long as he wanted.

Then he began to touch….

Aziraphale ran his…_no, Crowley’s_…hands over his face. Then down his arms and chest. He wrapped his arms around his torso and squeezed tight, ducking his head down. This was how he would hold Crowley if he could: gentle, but pressed so close against him, air could not get between their bodies.

He raised his head and his hands fluttered up to his chest again, fingers absent-mindedly fiddling with the buttons on his shirt.

_‘No, this is Crowley’s shirt, Crowley’s body. I, I mustn’t…I mustn’t….’_

The lump in his throat thrust up and down as he swallowed. When he was in his own body, Aziraphale found it possible, if painful, to strangle and smother his wants before they could take hold. But the heat that was singing through Crowley’s blood and flesh made it impossible for him to remain detached enough to do that now.

His fingers only trembled a little as he undid the buttons and yanked at the zipper of his pants before pulling all of his clothes off.

For a full minute, all Aziraphale could do was stare. This was hardly the first time he had seen Crowley naked. There had been bathhouses in ancient Rome and a couple of memorable occasions in the Turkish baths in Victorian England. Not to mention that mishap involving a particularly messy fate that befell a hell-beast that he and Crowley had gotten rid of together. That necessitated a quick scrubbing down in a nearby river which had even included their wings.

But with all those other times, there had always been the distance of embarrassment and caution. For Aziraphale knew that, if he had been allowed even one touch, he wouldn’t have been able to stop.

Even one touch…like this one where he let his fingers dance over Crowley’s chest, swirling around the nipples.

Aziraphale gasped. The fact that that sound came out of Crowley’s mouth only made the heat within him rise even more. Would Crowley do that if he had actually touched him? What other sounds he could make Crowley do for him?

His hands went lower. Though he could already see it, the fact that Crowley had made an Effort hadn’t truly registered until he was actually touching it. Aziraphale let out a trembling breath as he explored every surface, teasing, pressing, stroking.

Did Crowley do this when he was alone? Did he touch himself this way, his flesh becoming hot and slicked by sweat? What did he think about while he did it? Did he just focus on the warm tightness Aziraphale could feel forming in his abdomen?

Or did he think of someone while he did it? Of someone touching him, staring into his eyes and sharing his heated, shaky breaths?

He wanted to stay there in front of the mirror, to watch every nuance of the pleasure this touch was giving Crowley’s body wash over his beautiful face. But the fact of the matter was, his legs were barely able to hold him up anymore. Aziraphale was forced to tear himself away from the mirror and fall onto his back on the bed.

He closed his eyes, one hand moving faster while the other pressed exploratory fingers to a tender spot further back.

_‘Crowley…oh my dear…’_

Aziraphale felt his mouth fall open even wider. Even more powerful than the physical need that he was generating in Crowley’s body was the hungry, desperate spiritual need Aziraphale felt to be the one to be doing this to Crowley. To be looking down at that face, to hear Crowley call his name with so much love and need and want, it could set his own blood aflame. To be the one on top of him, stroking, thrusting, merging.

The fingers sped up as the skin grew slipperier; the force of his movements became harder and more frenzied. By this point, Aziraphale wasn’t sure who he was trying to pleasure and couldn’t begin to care about the answer. His entire focus was on the tightening inside him that was begging to be released.

And then it happened, a flash of white and then a warm, sticky feeling on his skin.

Aziraphale continued to lay there after it was over, his breaths still shuddering. His heart swelled with love for Crowley for only a moment until the loneliness swamped him.

Crowley wasn’t here. He hadn’t shared any of this. The way he had touched…it was so much more than Aziraphale had ever imagined, and yet he had been as he always was, cold and alone.

A sob caught in his throat and he shivered. It was a simple thing to snap his fingers and clean away any evidence of what happened. It only took another moment after that to get dressed again.

Aziraphale knew it would take far longer to shake the sorrow he felt.

There was a ring in the other room. Aziraphale raced over to the phone and picked up the receiver.

“It’s me,” his own voice said. “Meet me in the park.”

“Yes,” he said and hung up.

Aziraphale let his head drop. In a few minutes, they would switch back, reverse this exchange of bodies.

Soon, he would be alone again, trapped in his body. Trapped within his fears and unable to ask for any of this.


	5. Sic Itur Ad Astra

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Alpha Centauri
> 
> This takes place at some point during Episode Four.
> 
> Rating: G

_‘There has to be a place. There has to be. Somewhere we could….’_

_‘Hang on, what about Alpha Centauri anyway?’_

Crowley sat up in his chair. Armageddon was looking more and more like a certainty rather than a possibility that could be avoided. Especially now that they had lost the Antichrist and the chances of finding him in time were increasingly slim.

Then there was the other issue Crowley tried to not think about. The fact that Hell definitely wanted this War, but would not overlook his screw-ups in relation to the Antichrist. They would come for him and they would not show him any mercy.

And even if he did manage to escape Hell’s retribution there was still the little matter of the War to End Everything that would be forthcoming. Crowley knew that he wouldn’t last long on the battlefield. Straightforward combat just wasn’t how he dealt with conflict.

Even worse, Aziraphale would also be thrown into a war the angel dreaded with every fiber of his being. He could die. Or he would be forced to become the holy warrior he never wanted to be and would long for death anyway.

No, no Crowley could not risk any of that. He needed to find a way out if it looked like they wouldn’t find the Antichrist in time. A place they could go to together. A place where they wouldn’t be noticed. A place where no one would bother to look.

A place far from Earth and the gates of Heaven and Hell: Alpha Centauri.

Crowley rubbed the side of his index finger against his chin. He hadn’t traveled from Earth since he’d been assigned to “make some trouble” back in the Garden. All the memories he had of Alpha Centauri were from before his Fall. From back when he had traveled around the universe, building it from nothing, weaving starlight into being from white-hot matter.

Alpha Centauri had not been a solo effort. Numerous angels had worked together to form the planets, stars, and stray pieces of wandering debris that made up the galaxy. Most of the other angels had stuck with basic construction with function and simplicity being their focus. Their thought processes being that these planets weren’t going to get any special attention by the Almighty, so why bother with adding in a lot of superfluous details.

Crowley hadn’t fallen in with that line of thinking. The way he saw it, creation was meant to be beautiful, messy, and exploratory. He wanted to build, not just for its own sake, but also to answer questions that he had jumbled up inside him.

Crowley leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. There had been one planet in particular, a place where he had been allowed to work without supervision and had been free to create as he wished. There, he had stretched his mind to test this new thing he had discovered within himself called imagination.

And from that came….

Crowley’s eyes popped open as he leapt up from his chair. He grabbed his sunglasses and pushed them onto his face as he rushed outside. Once he was there, he let his wings unfold and shot up into the sky.

He knew where he was going. He had never forgotten the way. He just needed to picture it in his mind.

And just like that, he was there. Flying through a lavender sky down onto the surface of a planet toward the outer rim of Alpha Centauri. He let his feet touch down onto a field of rose colored sand that was covered by swaying red-orange grasses.

It was nighttime here. The two moons that orbited the planet were already high in the sky whereas the star that served as its sun was sinking off in the distance. The song of a lizard-like creature cooed its calls into the breeze.

Crowley smiled. He had hoped that life would flourish here even though it would likely never have the complexity that existed on Earth. The flowers that were blooming in the moonlight and the shadows of small creatures darting about in the foliage warmed his heart.

Then he saw it. There weren’t a lot of them in these fields, but they were there.

More flowers, but these ones were unique. They only bloomed at night, and when they did, their petals glowed a sparkling blue that mirrored the stars in the sky.

Crowley knelt down in front of the nearest one of these flowers. He had spent extra time on these, wanting to bring a piece of the beauty of space onto a planet surface.

No matter what happened to him after his Fall, no matter how Heaven had tried to erase the mark he had left on the universe, Crowley had held onto the precious thought that these flowers were still blooming, still spreading starlight onto this lonely planet.

That this was one thing, one tiny spot of beauty, that would always be here. A memory of his love for the stars.

Crowley gently traced one of his fingers on the edges of the petals and then stood up. He needed to get back to Earth, needed to convince Aziraphale to come with him to this world. They could be happy here. They could watch these flowers bloom every night and be reminded of the skies over Eden.

It wouldn’t be the same, but it would be everything Crowley truly needed. And that would be enough.


	6. Timeless

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: crepes.
> 
> This takes place a while after the end of the series/book. 
> 
> Rating: Teen for a generous amount of innuendo.

_"You are, you are_

_The only thing that makes me feel like_

_I could live forever, forever_

_My love"--Timeless_, by The Airborne Toxic Event.

* * *

There really wasn’t anything to making a crepe.

Or at least, that’s what Crowley thought when he finally mastered the recipe he had learned from a temperamental French chef back in the 1790s. There weren’t a lot of ingredients in the basic crepe itself: just flour, water, some fats and maybe a little salt. And the actual cooking time was only a matter of minutes.

It hardly seemed like something that was worth almost getting your head chopped off for. Then again, there was that time he had almost gotten shot while trying to save a particularly beautiful potted plant from falling off a window sill. So Crowley figured, he wasn’t entitled to judge.

Ultimately, making good crepes seemed to be more about style than anything else. Something Anthony J. Crowley was confident he had in spades.

Once he had mastered that recipe in Paris, Crowley continued to refine it. He modified it to accommodate changes in food preparation over the years and kept up with trends for toppings, sauces and syrups to put onto them. It was a lot of work for someone who only had marginal interest in food, but Crowley was determined to believe that one day it would be worth it.

This morning, that day had finally come.

Crowley studied the breakfast tray in front of him, brushing a spot of flour off his apron. The centerpiece was a large stack of crepes that were artfully arranged around the plate. They were light, fluffy, and ready to be featured on a gourmet food magazine cover. To the side was the silverware which were wrapped in a soft white linen. In an upper corner, there was a white angel-wing mug filled with coffee instead of the usual cocoa, a blend Crowley had special ordered with just the right smell and aftertaste of cinnamon.

Then inspiration struck, and Crowley knew what was missing. He snapped his fingers and a white glass vase appeared on the other upper corner. Inside the vase was a pair of orchids from a collection he was growing, one pink and one white.

Crowley smiled. That was it. That was the last touch he was looking for. Satisfied that he was ready, Crowley picked the tray up and carried it toward his bedroom. The door was mostly ajar, making it easy for him to sidle in without making a sound.

However, all his efforts to make a perfect breakfast tray were almost ruined because the sight that greeted him was just about enough to make him drop everything to the floor.

In his bed was Aziraphale, fast asleep. For someone who claimed to have never slept and never needed to, the angel had taken to the habit in no time at all. Of course, some of that might have something to do with what they were up to last night.

Another much more salacious grin appeared on Crowley’s face as he approached the bed, making sure that his footsteps were quiet. Aziraphale was curled up on his side. The blankets were pulled down enough for Crowley to see that he was still nude underneath.

Last night, Crowley had been ready to conjure up some pajamas for Aziraphale once they were finished, but the angel surprised him by asking him not to. Instead, Aziraphale had held him in his arms and had drifted off to sleep with the two of them pressed together, skin to skin, for most of the night.

Crowley gingerly sat down on the edge of the bed. A shaft of sunlight had made its way around the bedroom curtains and was shining onto the angel’s head, making his curls glow. The light also made the halo that was more visible than usual glimmer, a side effect that appeared after every time that they were intimate.

He only got to enjoy this quiet beauty for a moment more before there was a groggy sigh and Aziraphale’s eyes opened, blinking several times while they focused.

“Good morning, dearest.” The angel smiled, and when he caught sight of the tray, the halo grew a bit brighter. “Crowley, is that….?”

“Of course,” Crowley said, smiling. “You didn’t think I’d miss the opportunity to make you breakfast in bed, did you?”

Aziraphale scooted so that he was propped up on his side. “I should have known after the way you tempted me last night, you wily serpent.”

Crowley waggled an index finger at him. “Ah, now who really tempted who last night? Those hands of yours weren’t exactly chaste, angel.”

“Yes, but you were the one who simply had to show me what you meant by being ‘creative’ with your tongue,” Aziraphale said, pouting.

Crowley chuckled and he sat the tray at the foot of the bed so he could kneel on the mattress and bend down to kiss Aziraphale on his forehead. The angel, however, wasn’t satisfied to leave it at that and pulled him down by the apron straps so that Crowley was lying on top of him, kissing him hungrily.

Several breathless moments later, Crowley was able to get his brain working enough to remember breakfast. He sat up and placed the tray over Aziraphale’s lap. The angel beamed at him and moved into a sitting position.

“Oh Crowley, crepes,” he said, sighing happily. “And those flowers are so lovely, dear.”

The angel stroked the petals with the flowers perking up to their fullest bloom. Crowley suspected that those orchids would now live much longer than expected after being cut and put in a vase.

Aziraphale lifted his fork and cut himself off a generous bite of crepe. He placed it onto his tongue and let out a closed mouth moan of pleasure.

“Oh Crowley these are positively scrummy,” he said as he chewed around his next bite.

“Thought you’d like them,” Crowley said, a ridiculous smile on his face.

Aziraphale took another large bite and then glanced over at Crowley, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Trying to tempt me again, I see.”

“Why angel, whatever do you mean? I thought making breakfast in bed was a perfectly innocent, domestic thing to do.”

“Yes, but that apron….”

“I thought you’d like it too. You have said that red is my color.”

“And it is. But what I’m referring to is the fact that the apron seems to be all that you are wearing.”

“Took you that long to notice it,” Crowley said, snickering again. He got up on all fours and crawled over to the angel. “Now that you have, what do you intend to do about it?”

Aziraphale smirked at him. “Well, first I am going to finish this lovely breakfast you made me.”

Crowley’s face started to fall, but then Aziraphale grabbed him by the collar strap again and pulled him over so their noses were almost touching.

“And then,” Aziraphale murmured. “I’m going to have dessert.” 

* * *


	7. Remembrance of Things Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Mesopotamia.
> 
> This takes place after the Flood and during another well known Biblical event from Genesis.... 
> 
> Rating: G

He was supposed to destroy it. That was what Gabriel had suggested that he do: destroy it and leave the humans no reminders of their grandiose dreams, no memories of what led to their current dilemma.

Still, it had only been a suggestion, a rarity when it came to his interactions with the archangels. Technically, he had been given free rein to do whatever he thought best with this abandoned tower.

Destroying it was probably the sensible thing to do. It would never be finished or serve any useful purpose. It would also become hazardous over time. The supports were only half completed so the wear of weather and time would make them brittle and likely to shatter.

Perhaps most notable of all though was the fact that the humans were already starting to forget what the tower had been for in the first place. They only had vague memories of it now and those would fade away before long.

“So, when does the demolition start?”

Aziraphale didn’t turn around even as Crawly’s footsteps drew closer.

“I suppose I should destroy it, shouldn’t it?” he said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in his voice. “I mean, what else should be done with it?”

“It’s what She wanted, isn’t it?” Crawly said as he stood next to him. The venom in his voice was a complement to how Aziraphale felt.

“I don’t think it was the tower itself that She had an issue with. It was the mindset of its builders.”

“Yes,” Crawly said with a snort. “Mustn’t let those humans get any lofty ideas. We all know what happens to people who get too many ideas.”

Aziraphale felt his jaw become tight, but said nothing. What could he say? Technically, Crawly wasn’t wrong about any of this. Although, he was assuming the absolute worst about Her motives.

“Guess the humans should be grateful She didn’t decide to drown them all in another Flood.”

“You know that wouldn’t have happened,” Aziraphale sighed. “She made a promise to never do that again. Whatever else you might think of the Almighty, you can’t deny that She keeps Her word.”

“Suppose not,” Crawly said. “But this was bad enough, wasn’t it?”

“It’s definitely going to make things more complicated for all of us,” Aziraphale said absently. “I wonder how many different languages there are now.”

“Who knows,” Crawly said with a shrug. “At least we’ve got the time and the capacity to learn them all, no matter how many there are.” He turned to face Aziraphale and the angel did not miss the anger in his eyes.

“It’s not so easy for the humans living through this right now,” he said. “Spouses who can’t talk to each other. Children who can’t communicate with their parents.”

“Not all of the families were given different languages from each other,” Aziraphale replied. “I’m pretty sure that the selection of who can and who cannot talk to their loved ones was chosen at random.”

“Oh, so just bad luck for those who can’t. I guess that makes it all right then.”

“Crawly, I’m sure that there was a reason…that the Great Plan….”

Crawly waved a hand at him. “I know, I know, you don’t have to tell it to me again. Trust me, I’ve heard it all before. From more than one of your lot.”

Crawly turned his gaze toward the tower again, taking a few steps toward it. “Look at it. Clever humans. Give them a few hundred years and look at what they’ll think up.” His shoulders sagged.

“It could have been beautiful, you know.”

Aziraphale found it difficult to swallow for some reason. “Yes. It could have been.”

Crawly sighed and shook his head, turning his back on the tower. “Might as well find some humans and see what they’re up to. Got to start learning these new languages if I’m going to keep tempting them.”

The demon gave one last long backward glance at the unfinished building before walking away toward the east without another word.

Aziraphale waited until Crawly was gone from his view before finally turning his attention back toward the tower. Babel was what they had called it, and he wondered if even the name would be lost to time eventually.

He walked toward it, his wings unfolding and his halo appearing as he did. When he got to the foot of the tower, he placed a palm onto one of the walls.

_‘You could have been beautiful. It just wasn’t your time, is all. Not the time for any of this.’_

Aziraphale closed his eyes and placed his other hand against the wall. Eyes opened up on his wings as the Cherub Who Was a Guardian began to emerge from his usual Principality form.

His eyes opened, bright blue orbs without any white. Another pair of wings appeared and both sets flicked upward.

And in a flash of light, the tower was gone, sent to the same plane of existence that the Garden had been taken to.

Once the light had faded, the wings were gone and Aziraphale appeared as his normal human-shaped self. Only this faint glow of his halo indicated what had just happened.

_‘One day, it will be time for humanity to let their talents flourish. To raise themselves to the heavens.’_

Aziraphale felt a heaviness in his heart as he walked toward the west. He dearly wanted to follow Crawly, but was certain that it wasn’t time for that either.


	8. Invisible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: ice cream.
> 
> This takes place a couple of weeks after the Notpocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: G

“Here you go.”

Aziraphale blinked and took the ice cream from Crowley’s hand: a single vanilla with a flake. He watched Crowley sit down beside him, his tongue swirling on the edge of his strawberry ice lolly.

“Thank you,” he said. He took a couple of tentative licks, bit the tip off the top, and continued to stare at the people milling around the park.

“Something on your mind?”

Aziraphale started and shook his head. “No, I was just….”

“Oh come on, angel, you’ve got something on your mind. You always take a bite off your flake before starting on the ice cream. So I know something’s up. What is it?”

Aziraphale smiled and shook his head again. How did he miss the way that Crowley learned every detail about him after all these centuries?

“I’m sorry,” he finally said. Crowley bit the end off his lolly.

“About what?”

“I, I didn’t notice them,” Aziraphale answered” The archangels. I should have. I knew they were coming for you, and I didn’t even know they were there until I saw them taking you away.”

Crowley swallowed what was in his mouth and tilted his head. “And you’re sorry about that? The plan was to let them take us.”

“I know. I know it was, I just….” Aziraphale huffed and cupped his ice cream cone in his hands. “If I had seen them, I could have told you. You could have prepared, and….”

“And it wouldn’t have made a difference,” Crowley finished for him. “We both would have been taken anyway, and we probably would have been a little more banged up in the process. Or even worse, they would have figured out that we made the switch.”

Aziraphale nodded and took another slow bite of his ice cream, still not touching the chocolate bar sticking out of it. He continued to eat like that silently until Crowley stuck the rest of his lolly into his mouth and sucked it off the stick in one large gulp.

“Really, my dear, I don’t think it’s as enjoyable to….”

“There’s something else you’re not telling me,” Crowley interrupted. “Are you going to talk to me or is this another one of those things that we’ll have to wait a couple hundred years to discuss?”

Aziraphale sighed. In some ways, it had been easier when Crowley hadn’t been so blunt about mentioning the hurdles they had in communicating with each other. But easier also wasn’t what Aziraphale wanted any more.

“Crowley…I’m not a very good guardian.”

“Never asked you to be a guardian,” Crowley said. “And it’s not what you want anyway.”

“No, I don’t want to be a warrior of Heaven,” Aziraphale replied. “I never wanted that. But…when the Almighty asked which of Her guardians would go to Earth, I was the first to volunteer. Because I had seen these humans from afar and I wanted to protect them.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. “They were so small. Fragile. But they were also…beautiful. They needed someone to watch over them, and even though it hurt to leave Her presence, I chose to go. But I couldn’t protect them.”

The angel looked down. Ice cream was starting to run down his fingers. He thought about licking it up or even whisking it away with a miracle. But instead, he continued to watch the cream colored liquid trickle down.

“I couldn’t protect you,” he murmured. “We’re supposed to be on our own side and…and I don’t know if I can keep you safe, Crowley.”

He heard Crowley sigh, the sound so mortifying, he couldn’t lift his head.

“Angel, you’ve spent six thousand years keeping watch over me, and now you’re worried about protecting me?”

“Crowley, I….”

“No, don’t even try. I know you had a hand in my escaping Salem. And that little incident in Spain with that mad exorcist. And the firing squad in Mexico. And let’s not forget about that car crash in India.”

A hand touched his forearm, and Aziraphale finally looked up to see that Crowley had scooted closer to him.

“You’ve made sure that I wasn’t discorporated dozens of times,” Crowley said, his tone gentle. “And this whole time, you thought that I didn’t notice it. Just because you never said anything.”

Aziraphale’s head jerked as he tried clearing his throat. “It wasn’t…of course if Heaven or Hell ever found out….”

“Yeah, I know,” Crowley said. “But that didn’t stop you, did it? You seem to think that just because all those miracles were small that they don’t mean anything. Or maybe it’s just because you were the one doing them.”

The hand on his forearm squeezed, and Aziraphale felt his eyes sting. Crowley leaned close to his ear.

“You know what the best kind of guardian is?” Crowley nearly whispered. “The kind who never has to make his presence known.”

The demon paused and then leaned back against the bench. He waved his hand, and all the sticky mess on Aziraphale’s fingers rejoined the rest of his ice cream, just as fresh and frozen as the moment he had gotten it.

“Go on, finish your ice cream,” Crowley said. “I want to try that new wine I had sent to your shop.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “Yes, that would be lovely.”


	9. Routine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sadly, I got a little behind in my Inktober prompts, so I'll be double posting for the next couple of days to catch up.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter is: bookshop.
> 
> This takes place a month or so after the Almostpocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: G (although there is one swear word)

For centuries, Crowley had had a complicated relationship with books.

It wasn’t that he had anything against them. In fact, he had been quite impressed when Gutenberg had gotten his signature invention up and running. Granted, it was all Bibles at first, so Hell wasn’t exactly pleased about this development. But Crowley was convinced that the ability to spread knowledge to the masses was a great thing and would lead to an invigoration of the human race.

Not to mention all the opportunities that would open up for an enterprising demon to make trouble on a grander scale.

He didn’t really have any great affinity for books either. The greatest hurdle he had to enjoying them was his eyes. Despite his human-shaped form, the serpentine features in his eyes never completely went away. They weren’t suited for reading for prolonged periods of time, so he had to take in books in bits and bursts. He also had to prioritize his reading for the books that would give him the most useful information for his work. Thus, reading for enjoyment wasn’t something he could truly appreciate.

The truth was, like so many things on Earth, Crowley’s relationship with books revolved around Aziraphale. And the angel had a knack for unintentionally adding complications to everything that he touched and that touched him.

Aziraphale’s love of books was the reason why an infernal snake had been willing to run into fire to save a few tomes over and over again throughout history. It was why a demon, who was suppose to throw every possible wile at Hell’s greatest adversaries, the Heavenly Host, had rescued a member of said Host from being hung over a misunderstanding involving a cache of prophecy books.

And right now, it was why the First Tempter of humanity, Hell’s chosen representative on Earth, had been demoted to bookshop assistant.

“Crowley, dear, could you take that stack over to the center of the aisle. It’s closer to the shelves I plan on moving to them to.”

Scratch that. Not even a true assistant. More like a mover or pack mule.

“Right,” he said, grunting as he crouched down and hoisted up the tower of books at his feet. Thankfully, each stack was easy to lift due to his status as an occult being and the miracles Aziraphale must have been using to keep each pile uniform and perfectly assembled.

“Angel, why are you moving your books around anyway?” he finally asked. “If you just want to clean them, you could miracle the dust away.”

Aziraphale appeared from behind a bookshelf, a bunch of scrolls gathered in his arms. As the angel slowly blinked at him, Crowley fought the urge to blush over how adorable Aziraphale’s glasses were on him.

“Oh no, this isn’t cleaning. It’s re-organizing. Once every twenty years whether they need them or not.”

“Hang on, you re-sort your books every twenty years?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied with the same astonishment a human would have if asked if they enjoyed breathing in and out every day. “It’s absolutely essential. Humans are clever, and eventually, they are bound to figure out the cataloging system I am currently using. So I change it on a regular basis so they never get so comfortable with it that they could actually find anything.”

“Guess that makes sense,” Crowley muttered.

Not that it actually did. But it passed for making sense within the framework of Aziraphale Logic where booksellers did everything they could to avoid selling books.

“So what system are you going with now?” he asked. “Author’s first name? Year of first publication?”

“Goodness no, nothing that simplistic,” Aziraphale answered. “No, I’m alphabetizing them by the first letter of the second word on the third page of each book. Making exceptions, of course, for stone tablets and scrolls.”

“Oh of course,” Crowley said, nodding. “Wouldn’t want it to be impractical.”

“Exactly!” Aziraphale said, beaming at him. “I knew you would understand. Now, we probably should get those three stacks from in front of the door so that when we move these, we can….”

“Aziraphale, how come this is the first time I’ve seen you do this?”

Aziraphale paused and studied him, a quizzical look on his face. “It’s not like I’ve tried to keep this routine a secret, Crowley.”

“Not saying you did, but….” Crowley let out a huff, unsure of how to say what he was thinking. “It’s just, all these decades you’ve had this bookshop, and I didn’t realize you were rotating the books like this. You never mentioned it.”

“I suppose it never occurred to me to mention it,” Aziraphale said.

His tone and become slow, cautious. That wasn’t what Crowley wanted at all, and he could already feel himself backing up from his words.

“Ok, I get it. It’s just something you do for the upkeep of your collection. But…did you have someone help you with it before?”

“No. I usually did the work myself. It was a great excuse to keep the shop closed for a week or two.”

Crowley nodded. He was certain that there was an element of truth in that. But he was also certain that part of it was because something about the work soothed Aziraphale. The shop being closed gave him the freedom to be unguarded while he performed this ritual of caring for his books.

“All right, so…why did you ask me to help you with it this time?

Traces of red stained Aziraphale’s cheeks, his throat bobbing slightly. For a moment, Crowley dreaded the signals he was getting, signs that Aziraphale might retreat rather than deal with the question put to him.

“I…I’m sorry, Crowley. I didn’t mean to….”

‘_Shit_!’ “No, no, it’s fine, angel. I don’t mind helping you out. I was just…I thought maybe you just liked doing this by yourself, you know. Like it was relaxing for you.”

Aziraphale blinked again, and to Crowley’s relief, a smile crept onto his lips.

“It is.”

Two little words, but they hit Crowley like stones. Because it was “is” and not “was”. It was the present, Crowley-filled routine that Aziraphale wanted, not the past solitary activity that he had leaned on for almost two centuries.

Crowley smiled and placed a hand on Aziraphale’s upper arm. “Want me to put those scrolls into that glass case you’ve got in the back?”

“No, I have a new place for them that’s even further from the light,” Aziraphale said, his own smile growing. “But you can be a dear and fetch that stack from the basement that I put next to the stairs. I want to give them a home up here now.”

“Will do, angel,” Crowley said with a grin as he watched Aziraphale walk away. He snapped his fingers and the books appeared next to his feet.

Sure, it was a shortcut that Aziraphale wouldn’t take for himself, but Crowley didn’t really want to let the angel out of his sight for a while.


	10. Sine Qua Non

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the other one for today. Hopefully, I'll be back to a normal posting schedule after tomorrow...
> 
> The prompt for this chapter is: body swap.
> 
> This takes place during Episode Six. I might expand this one at some point. I haven't decided....
> 
> Rating: G

_“If you’re not careful, you could end up wearing my body for eternity.”_

It had been a joke, albeit a nervous one. Still, Crowley could understand that nervousness because he shared in it. It hung over both of them like a dank mist, chilling and clinging. Thus, he had appreciated the angel’s attempt at levity.

At least that meant that Aziraphale hadn’t completely lost hope.

Looking back at that moment, Crowley was startled to realize that he didn’t remember how he had responded to it. He hoped that he had come up with something witty like _“wasn’t I already dammed once?”_ or _“and I thought Hell was twisted and cruel.”._ Or maybe even _“there’s a lot better things I could be doing to your body, angel.”_

The more he thought about it though, the more certain he was that he had gone with something like _“that’s not going to happen.”_ Because he had wanted to be reassuring. He wanted Aziraphale to have something comforting he could believe in.

The truth was much simpler than that. Crowley could not believe in any other outcome. Aziraphale would return. He would come back and would be safe and whole and they would be able to switch back.

There were no alterations to this reality that Crowley would accept.

The joke had also been a throwaway moment, not meant to be dwelled on. There were too many other important things to discuss. There was the plan to work out and all the details they had to get right about their switch so that Heaven and Hell would believe that they had each gotten the right person. They even thought about the contingencies that they could fall back on if their punishments weren’t exactly what they were planning for.

There wasn’t time for throwaway moments. Or time for tender ones.

From what Crowley could tell, the plan had worked. At least, it had on his end. The archangels had treated him with the disdain and condescending behavior he had always suspected that Aziraphale had endured. Despite the rage he had felt, he made sure to project all the quiet compassion and strength that Crowley knew the angel had in abundance.

The only moment of uncertainty happened when Gabriel had told him to “shut your stupid mouth and die already.” For a second, Crowley had let the iron grip he was holding his emotions with loosen. He managed to keep his tongue, but hadn’t been able to stop himself from letting the surge of hatred that boiled inside him to flicker in his eyes.

In that same second, he panicked and wondered if Gabriel had seen it. But then, the second passed and the smug grin on Gabriel’s face didn’t budge a millimeter.

That made it much easier for Crowley to justify spewing Hellfire at him less than a minute later. Upon reflecting, he figured it was probably a good thing that he had missed. But he doubted that he would ever lose the disappointment he felt over not taking Gabriel out then and there.

And maybe Sandalphon too if his suspicions of why Aziraphale’s torso was so sore were correct.

Still, any regrets he might have had about not being able to remove Aziraphale’s tormentors from the universe was soothed by relief that he had kept up his end of the plan. The rest of it relied on Aziraphale.

If anything, Crowley was less concerned about Aziraphale pulling this off than he was about himself. Aziraphale was clever, so, so clever, and had a nerve that was as sharp and strong as the blade of his sword. He would be able to outsmart his captors in Hell. Crowley was certain of it.

So Crowley waited. First, he tried to wait in the bookshop, but there were still too many memories here. Memories of Aziraphale disappearing which were enhanced by the lack of the angel’s presence on Earth currently. So he tried waiting at the flat instead. Then he noticed how the plants appeared to perk up the moment he walked toward them, and not out of their usual fear either. They were clearly soft for the angel too.

Unable to cope with that, Crowley moved on again. He walked the streets of Soho, every step pulling him into another memory of the two of them living here, meeting here, watching over humanity together.

The worst moments came whenever he caught a glimpse of himself in the shop windows. When he stared at the face he saw in the reflection and had to remind himself that the angel was still missing.

Eventually, he tried sitting down on their favorite bench in St. James Park. There had been so many laughs here. So many meaningful words that masked the feelings they kept inside.

_‘Aziraphale will return. He’ll come back and then we can switch back again.’_

_‘He’s just late. Hell can be even worse than Heaven with the waiting around and paperwork.’_

_‘They’re just making a grand show out of punishing a traitor. Prolonging the agony. Doesn’t mean that Aziraphale is in trouble.’_

_‘Aziraphale will come back. He will.’_

_‘He will.’_

The sun sank down, the reds and pinks of the sky reflected in the sparkles of Aziraphale’s pinky ring. When the sunlight finally faded, Crowley noted how warm the angel’s body continued to be even in the moonlight.

Crowley’s hands shook. It took him almost a full minute to realize that it wasn’t from the cold. He ran his fingers through his hair, a choked sob coming out when he felt tight curls instead of the short, spiky hair he was used to.

_“If you’re not careful, you could end up wearing my body for eternity.”_

Crowley wrapped his arms around his torso, hugging himself with the vague wish that Aziraphale was the one holding him.

_‘No, no, no…please…please I want to go back. I have to go back.’_

He buried his face in his hands. He didn’t actually care about getting back to his own body. He just needed to return this one to Aziraphale. His soul ached with the horrifying knowledge that every soft touch the angel’s hands could give him right now would be empty. Not real.

Not Aziraphale.

_“…you could end up wearing my body for eternity…”_

_‘Please…I already Fell once….’_

_‘Don’t let me Fall again while wearing my angel’s face.’_


	11. Ritual

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Paris.
> 
> This takes place at a couple of different points just before the events of the show. 
> 
> Rating: G

The Pont des Arts bridge looked far different a couple of centuries ago.

Crowley had been in Paris when it was originally finished back in 1804. The first metal bridge in Paris, and apparently, it was a crowning achievement in the city’s attempt to embrace progress while still clinging to the ideals of beauty. Back then, it had had nine arches, but “progress” meant that extensive damage had changed it into a completely different bridge altogether by the 2000s.

As far as Crowley was concerned, it gave people a nice view of the Seine and didn’t have much else notable about it. Oh sure, there were the art displays and plenty of humans milling about it, but there wasn’t much to spark Hell’s interest in it.

Then he got a memo ordering him to find some new way to spread some low-grade evil throughout Paris. Crowley had thought that Paris had paid its dues already, especially after the wars. But if there was one maxim that Hell followed, it was that anything worth doing was worth overdoing.

Mainly due to random chance, his first thought had been to try something with the Pont des Arts. It was currently structurally sound due to its renovations back in the 1970s, so that wasn’t an avenue he could take.

It was also a pedestrian bridge which didn’t offer nearly as many opportunities as bridges that allowed cars did. Really, the humans were completely oblivious to the countless prospects for Hell to gain a foothold when they came up with the notion of “horseless carriages”.

One evening, Crowley stood on the bridge, smoking and thinking about how he might have to look for a new project to work on. There were multiple couples walking back and forth along the bridge, signaling their love for each other with hand holding and heads nestled onto shoulders. The sight stirred something aching inside Crowley, and he was about to walk away when a conversation nearby caught his attention.

“Oh Claude, I wish…oh, you’ll think it’s silly.”

“No, Celeste. Tell me.”

“I wish, I wish we could just keep this moment here forever, you know. Like keep it under lock and key so it could be our treasure.”

“Celeste…you already have my heart…don’t worry about the moments….”

Crowley felt his heart turn. Then he got an idea.

* * *

It had been a simple thing, really. To spread his idea around. All he had to do was get into the ear of a couple of writers, and he was eventually able to find one who put his idea into a novel: the idea of love locks.

The idea itself was simpler yet: attach a lock to the Pont des Arts as a declaration of love. After it was put into print, the idea spread into movies and TV shows. It hadn’t been this easy to plant a seemingly harmless infernal idea into the romantic rituals of humans since he had come up with heart-shaped boxes of chocolates for Valentine’s Day. In no time at all, humans were ready to accept a new idea as an old tradition.

Still, just like that previous time with the candy, Hell was wary of his intentions. Demons were not supposed to involve themselves with anything that could encourage love. Crowley had had to ask for patience, not an easy task from the denizens of Hell.

It wasn’t long though before the results they were looking for came about. The selling of “love locks” attracted hucksters of all sorts as well as additional pickpockets near the Seine. Parts of the bridge became brittle from the weight of the locks and broke off. Locals were angry about the hazards and damage while tourists were disappointed and sad that their “old tradition” was being so callously criticized.

Just like he had a few years ago, Crowley was hanging around the Pont des Arts when they started the first round of cutting the locks away. So much annoyance, disillusionment and small misfortunes created by what was supposed to be a harmless act of love. It had been a complete success, and Hell had congratulated him on his ingenuity.

Crowley’s fingers found one lock in particular: the one Claude and Celeste had put on the bridge a while ago. He wondered how many times Celeste thought about it these days now that Claude had moved away and married someone else.

Then he traced his fingers downward, to a spot no humans could see due to a spell he had cast on it. In that secret place was another lock, a golden one with two pairs of wings etched onto it.

Crowley frowned. He justified putting that lock to himself by remembering that he hadn’t performed the ritual in the exact method he had created for the humans. He’d been alone when he had put this lock on and never told anyone else about it. At the time, he tried to tell himself that he only did it so that its occult energy would attract other people to attach their locks and help his plot along.

It was better to think that than to think about how there were two sets of initials on the lock. And that the owner of one of them would probably never know about this lock being here.

Crowley sighed and used a miracle to pry the lock open so he could slip it into his pocket. It had done its work. No point in leaving it here.

No point in believing in a ritual that was nothing more than a demon’s heartsick wish.


	12. Movie Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Crowley's flat.
> 
> This takes place a few months after the Notpocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: high G or low Teen due to some light innuendo.

Ever since the Nearpocalypse, he and Crowley had come to a new Arrangement.

However, instead of an arrangement that was built upon fear, secrecy, and lies, this arrangement was about exploration and joy. And just like the previous Arrangement, it was very simple: each of them would take turns finding something new for them to enjoy together.

For Aziraphale, it was easy to turn to his two favorite sources of comfort: books and food. This meant going to a fish and chips stand that was just a block away from the bookshop. It meant going to a craft beer festival to sample as much as they could. It meant evenings spent at the bookshop with Aziraphale reading a selection of books to Crowley from _The Iliad_ to _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_.

Crowley, on the other hand, was much more varied in his choices. There had been the expected long drives in the Bentley, but there had also been that day at the water park and ride on a Ferris wheel.

Eventually though, Crowley did settle into a routine that he seemed to especially enjoy: movie night at his flat.

Thus, every Thursday, Crowley would pick up some food and wine to share while the two of them watched movies on the demon’s recently upgraded television that took up a huge portion of one of the front room walls.

Of course, Crowley being Crowley displayed his usual sense of humor by choosing a bunch of movies that involved angels or demons or a mixture of both. The ideas that humans had about Heaven and Hell baffled Aziraphale at times, but Crowley was consistently amused.

“So, what is it to be this time?” Aziraphale said, dipping a piece of sushi into his tiny bowl of soy sauce. “Hopefully nothing as dreadful as that movie that claimed to be about Michael. I do hope they never see that or they might look for a way to smite all the humans involved in making it.”

“Hey, Travolta had been in some decent movies recently,” Crowley replied. “I thought he’d make Michael, I don’t know, more cool. Fun. How was I supposed to know that he’d play Michael in hideous overalls?”

Aziraphale shook his head and popped his sushi into his mouth. The two of them were currently sitting on a couch that had appeared in the flat on the first one of these movie nights. He was fairly certain that the demon had conjured it up on a whim, but there was no denying how perfect it was for when they wanted to snuggle close together. In fact, sitting curled up tightly against Crowley was becoming one of his new favorite activities.

It almost made putting up with the ridiculousness onscreen worth it.

“I’ve heard this one is better,” Crowley said, snapping his fingers to turn the TV on. “It’s a German movie: _Der Himmel über Berlin_. I think they call it _Wings of Desire_ in English.“

“Not a very exact translation, is it?” Aziraphale sniffed. “_Wings of Desire_? Crowley, this isn’t one of those, er, adult movies that you…?”

“What?! No,” Crowley scoffed. “Would I do that to you?”

“Yes. Undoubtedly.”

“Well that’s not what this is,” Crowley said with a huff. “Just, eat your sushi and let’s get this started.”

* * *

A little over two hours later, the end credits began to roll with Crowley and Aziraphale having been quiet for quite a long while.

“I understand how he felt,” Aziraphale said quietly. “Damiel, I mean. When he lived in that drab world as an angel, aching to feel something.”

Crowley blinked at him, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand tightening just a bit. “Are you saying that that…that’s how…?”

“How it was for me?” Aziraphale finished for him. “Not always, no. Though I think Heaven would have preferred that for me. Sometimes, when I was alone, truly alone, the world felt like how it must have for Damiel.”

He turned his face toward Crowley’s, his fingers curling around the demon’s hand. “But whenever I was with you, it was like how it was for Damiel afterward with the world full of life and color. And now, it’s that way every day, my dear.”

Aziraphale smiled upon seeing the bright red tinge that appeared on Crowley’s cheeks and lifted his hand so he could kiss Crowley’s fingers. He was even more pleased at the soft sigh of pleasure he heard coming from the demon’s lips.

“How about we open a bottle of that wine before we start another movie?” Aziraphale said.

“Wine, er, right. I’ll, I’ll just get…ngk….”

“I’ve got a pair of glasses right here,” Aziraphale said, waving his hand over the settee. A pair of goblets appeared and Crowley jumped to his feet so he could grab the bottle from the table.

“What are we watching next?” Aziraphale asked as Crowley brought the bottle over and opened it.

“I thought we’d get into the holiday mood,” Crowley said. “Christmas is coming and all. And I actually found a movie where the devil has an ongoing battle with Santa Claus. Oh and Santa Claus is buddies with Merlin.”

“That’s…an interesting mix of legends and religion,” Aziraphale replied. “And you say that this is supposed to be a Christmas themed movie?”

“Apparently,” Crowley shrugged, taking a sip of his wine. “Can’t see my lot having that much interest in Santa Claus though. We’re usually too busy trying to convince people to spend a lot of time in department stores.”

“I guess we’ll see what Lucifer’s aims are supposed to be here soon,” Aziraphale said, nodding as the movie started up.

* * *

Another couple of hours later, Aziraphale found that he couldn’t stop giggling and the sight of Crowley’s scowls didn’t help matters.

“Look angel, I already told you that we don’t do lame choreographed numbers in Hell,” the demon grumbled. “And we certainly don’t go around dressed in red tights with mini pantaloons all the time.”

“But they would be such an adorable look for you,” Aziraphale said with a wide grin. “I might have some things left from Paris that we could adjust for you.”

“Only if I get to chain you up again,” Crowley said with a leer.

Aziraphale smirked back at him. “Careful, my dear, or I might get some ideas of my own.”

Crowley chuckled and leaned in for a kiss. Aziraphale scooted closer so he could nestle against him and deepen the kiss. They stayed that way for several minutes before Aziraphale finally leaned back to gaze at him with hooded eyes.

“I think I’d like to open that other bottle of wine,” he murmured. “We could watch another film if you like.”

“I’d like that,” Crowley said with a grin. “How about _It’s a Wonderful Life_?”

“Oh, I’ve seen that one,” Aziraphale said with a slight frown. “I suppose you’ll tell me that I remind you of Clarence with his stumbling along within Heaven’s bureaucracy.”

“No,” Crowley said, his expression suddenly serious as he took Aziraphale’s hands into his. “No, you’re George Bailey: the big hearted person who did his best for everyone else and nearly broke his heart a thousand times doing it while not realizing how very loved he was.”

Crowley kissed his hands while Aziraphale leaned in to press his forehead against Crowley’s.

“I know now,” he whispered. “And I plan on spending the next six thousand years showing you my gratitude.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The movie they are talking about with Travolta was "Michael", a film I could never get through. 
> 
> Also mentioned was "Wings of Desire", which is indeed an interesting film and has Peter Falk in an intriguing side role. 
> 
> Finally, the one Aziraphale found so amusing was this Mexican children's film called "Santa Claus" which really does have a devil called Pitch in a feud with Santa Claus and has Merlin as a side character. That one is just downright weird.


	13. Corrigenda

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: godfathers.
> 
> This takes place a couple of weeks after the Nearpocalypse. While this is a snippet, I'm definitely thinking about how I might expand this in a future fic just because I'm super intrigued with the idea.
> 
> Rating: G

“So…they’re not my real parents, are they?”

Aziraphale frowned as he turned the “open” sign over on the door of his bookshop. There was already one visitor in his shop. One who needed his and Crowley’s entire attention.

Meanwhile, Crowley had been scowling ever since this conversation started. Now, he was clearly looking to Aziraphale to answer the question put to them. When the angel remained silent, he jumped up from the couch with a huff.

“If you mean, did Thaddeus Dowling impregnate Harriet Dowling and you were the result, then no. They’re not.”

“Crowley!” Aziraphale said in a tone that made it a scolding.

“What? He wanted the truth, so that’s what I gave him. Doesn’t he deserve that?”

Aziraphale sighed and shook his head. Yes, the boy in front of them deserved the truth at the very least. Still, the truth did not seem like a kindness while watching Warlock Dowling process the world he knew unraveling.

“So…who are my mom and dad then?”

Aziraphale noted something hard and yet unsteady in Warlock’s words. He would have to be cautious.

“We believe that your biological parents live in a village a couple of hours away from London.”

“I want to see them,” Warlock said, the tiniest crack in his voice. “I want to see them now.”

“I’m afraid it’s not that simple,” Aziraphale replied. “You see, they also have a boy who they believe is their son.”

“But he’s not!” Warlock shot back.

“I know,” Aziraphale said quietly. “And the boy knows this too. But his parents are unaware of the truth. As I suspect your parents are.”

“They’re not my mom and dad,” Warlock said. “They don’t care about me anyway.”

Aziraphale took a step toward Warlock, taking one of the boy’s hands into both of us. “Is that really true?” he asked, dreading the answer.

Warlock looked down and to the side, but didn’t pull his hand away. “I, I think Mom sorta cares. She tries to do stuff for me. But she never really listens. And I know she’s always happier when she goes off on her weekend trips.”

Aziraphale stroked a thumb across the back of Warlock’s hand, and the boy moved closer to him. “And Dad…I _know_ he doesn’t care. The only time he’ll ever talk to me is when he’s getting ready for a photo op. I heard him tell Jeanne…that’s his secretary…that he wished he had a son who was better at press events. Just ‘cause I didn’t impress his stupid friends at the stupid parties he’s always having at the house.”

Aziraphale closed his hands around Warlock’s. It was clear to him now why Hell had chosen the Dowlings to raise the Antichrist. They were just attentive enough to give the boy a good home, but they were also distant enough to not care about how he developed. And Thaddeus’ was opportunistic enough to give the Antichrist plenty of opportunities to insinuate himself with people in power.

Unfortunately, none of that was any use to a normal human boy who needed a caring family who would help him grow.

“How’d you find us anyway?” Crowley asked, finally saying out loud the question that had been bothering Aziraphale ever since Warlock showed up in the bookshop.

Warlock snorted. “It wasn’t hard. Nanny gave her home address for here in London.”

“But I never gave an address,” Aziraphale insisted.

“I just followed Nanny here a couple of times and realized that this is where you were living,” Warlock said with a shrug. “I kinda figured she’d lead me to you. Everyone knew that you two were a thing.”

“Ok, but how did you recognize us?” Crowley pressed.

“Please,” Warlock said, rolling his eyes. “No one could really look like Brother Francis. That disguises was just as rubbish as your magic act. And I guess you, um, became a guy?”

“Sometimes, I do that, yeah,” Crowley muttered, nodding.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale said, exasperated again. “I’m afraid it’s no use. We’ve been around him too long.”

Crowley blinked. “You mean…immunity?”

Aziraphale nodded. It was rare, only tended to happen once every couple hundred years or so. But once in a great while, if a human was exposed to occult or ethereal beings for prolonged periods of time, that human gained insight into the existence of supernatural forces and became immune to attempts to mask them.

An angel and a demon living with and trying to influence him for years clearly had had a profound effect on Warlock’s ability to sense what they actually were and thus would never take it for granted that they looked human. Trying to smooth over this situation with deception and maybe a bit of thought manipulation would probably not work.

“So…what do we do now?” Crowley said, fidgeting.

“I think it’s time for the truth,” Aziraphale said, taking a deep breath. He looked over at Crowley, his expression somber, but fond. “Could you…?”

Crowley huffed again. “All right.” He closed his eyes just for a moment and then raised his arms upward in one swift motion.

And in that instant, the moment stopped. Aziraphale, Crowley, and Warlock were outside the flow of time.

And an angel and a demon stood with their wings outstretched in front of a human boy.

Warlock’s eyes grew wide. “You…you mean…you’re…?”

“Warlock,” Aziraphale said softly. “We have much to talk about.”


	14. Miracles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: miracle. Which also felt like an appropriate title for this chapter.
> 
> This takes place during World War II. 
> 
> Rating: Teen, mainly due to the somber historical events that are mentioned/referenced.

“Aziraphale, we need to talk about your job performance of late.”

Aziraphale nodded, making sure to keep at least a trace of a placating smile on his face. He knew that this conversation with Gabriel had been coming for a while. He just wished it could have been later rather than sooner.

“The unrest in Europe has created plenty of opportunities to spread throughout humankind,” Gabriel continued. “Humans who had already been corrupted by the Opposition are committing atrocities on a grand scale.”

“Yes, it’s terrible,” Aziraphale said. “Suffering is widespread.”

“Indeed,” Gabriel said. “It has certainly increased our responsibilities on Earth. And those responsibilities include guiding and aiding those humans who are committed to the cause of Heaven. They will be vital to our struggle to push back against this evil.”

“They will, and they have already started to work against Hell’s awful agenda,” Aziraphale said. “Multiple people with influence in human societies have already begun to rally the masses against Hitler’s regime. I think it won’t be long before there is….”

“So you know how important it is that we focus on helping the good humans carry out Her Edicts,” Gabriel said. “And yet I see from your reports that you’ve let yourself be distracted by ‘pet projects’.”

Aziraphale ground his jaw, an old anger stirring that he made sure to keep tightly clamped down. “I hardly think rescuing people who have been threatened by the Nazis could be seen as frivolous activity. The horrors that occur in those camps….”

“And it’s praiseworthy that you are assisting them, Aziraphale,” Gabriel said with a wave of his hand. “Heaven applauds your efforts in that venture. No, what concerns us is this other item you mentioned in your latest report.”

The archangel pointed to a line toward the bottom, and Aziraphale nodded. Yes, he figured that there would be questions about that.

“You’ve been spending time with a known war profiteer and a member of the Nazi party,” Gabriel continued.

“Ah yes, Oskar,” Aziraphale replied, his expression as neutral as possible. “Well, you see, I believe that he could be drawn toward the Light and could do some valuable things to help….”

“Valuable? Aziraphale, the man is a lost cause. He drinks, he commits adultery, and he engages in promiscuous behavior. And he is clearly using those people in his factories for his own ends. What possible use could Heaven have for a man like that?”

“Yes, I know that he has flaws and has done bad things,” Aziraphale said. “But I believe that there is good in him. Good that could overcome the evil he has surrounded himself with. He just needs the right encouragement to….”

“Aziraphale, we can’t have you wasting Heaven’s miracles and blessings on a Nazi,” Gabriel said in a voice that indicated that no argument would be allowed.

“I promise, no miracles or blessings,” Aziraphale said, shaking his head for emphasis.

“And just what do you expect to accomplish with this human if you can’t use miracles or blessings?” Gabriel asked, astonished.

“By doing what I have been doing,” Aziraphale said, his voice steady and calm despite the turmoil inside him.

“Which is?”

“I talk to him sometimes. Most of the time, I simply listen. I listen to the thoughts and feelings he is grappling with. I let him know that he isn’t alone, even if he may feel more alone than he has ever felt in his entire life.”

“And that’s it?” Gabriel asked, his incredulity written into every line of his expression. “You just talk and listen to him? And that’s supposed to get him to stop being the bad human he has shown himself to be?”

“I know he has made mistakes and will probably make more,” Aziraphale said. “But I don’t believe that that makes him unredeemable. After all, if a human’s past makes them unable to earn Heaven’s forgiveness, what is the point of our efforts on Earth?”

Gabriel let out a long sigh. “Yes, of course. But I still think that this is a waste of time and energy that could be spent elsewhere.”

“I won’t neglect my other duties,” Aziraphale said.

Gabriel nodded and waved a hand indicating that the meeting was over. Aziraphale was certain that this was the only warning he would get. If there were any more questions about his conduct in the near future, he would get another strongly worded memo. And Heaven’s memos didn’t involve ink and paper.

* * *

“They are closing my factory, Mr. Fell. I’ve thought about trying to get it moved. To Brnĕnec, perhaps. But my workers. They tell me that it would be easy just to get new workers from the camps rather than transport the people working for me now.”

Aziraphale nodded. The war wasn’t going well for Germany even though the Nazi government refused to admit it. Any doubts about Oskar’s intentions for his munitions factories could be twisted into accusations of treason. And a man accused of treason would be an ideal choice for a desperate government looking for someone to make an example of.

“Oskar, there are many in the camps who would be better off in your factories,” he said. “But the workers you leave behind….”

“Yes, yes I know what their fate would be. And I do know people within the Gestapo who could get me what I need for a price. But I wonder…I wonder if I….”

Aziraphale placed a hand on Oskar’s arm. “I know you will do the right thing.”

* * *

Thankfully, the war didn’t last much longer after that.

It was late evening when he watched Oskar and his wife pack a few belongings so they could flee. They were sure to be hunted, and Aziraphale ached to bless their journey so it would be a safe one.

“I hear that there are people who are looking for him,” Gabriel said, suddenly appearing beside him. “I imagine he will get a fair trial.”

“There are over a thousand people who are alive because of his actions,” Aziraphale said quietly. “He shouldn’t have to endure a trial at all.”

“Aziraphale, how did you know?” Gabriel asked. “How did you know that this human, Schindler, would do what he did? According to your reports, there were no blessings or miracles used. So how did you know that he would save those people?”

“That’s the interesting thing about humans,” Aziraphale said, his eyes still watching the preparations to leave. “Once in a while, they create miracles of their own. Even the ones who most believe are unredeemable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The story of Oskar Schindler is a remarkable one, and I think it's a good example of how people can rise above their flaws and weaknesses to do truly good things. Something that can seem like a miracle.  
I highly recommend watching Schindler's List as an introduction to his story.


	15. Craving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Rome.
> 
> This takes place immediately after the scene in Rome in the beginning of Episode Three.
> 
> Rating: G

_‘Huh, so it really was about going out for oysters then.’_

Crowley leaned back against the wall while he watched Aziraphale tip his head back and scoop out the meat from another shell with his tongue. Although they had crossed paths many times in the previous millennia, this was the first time that Crowley had ever seen Aziraphale eating.

That fact by itself wasn’t shocking. Neither angels nor demons actually needed to eat or drink even though they had the ability to consume them if they chose to. In Crowley’s case, the decision to eat and drink had started out as a purely practical one. It was his job to tempt people and it was much easier to do so if the humans thought he was one of them. Sharing meals and going out for drinks was a way to draw people closer to him and make them open to temptation.

Granted, Crowley eventually discovered alcohol and was pleased with the effects it had on his corporeal form. Thus, drinking for his own pleasure became a new hobby for him and often had nothing to do with work.

Aziraphale, on the other hand, hadn’t shown any interest in taking in human sustenance until now. In the past, he preferred to spend time with humans in either large crowds (so that his actions wouldn’t be observed too closely) or in a one-on-one setting (where he could control how those interactions played out). Pretending to need to eat or drink hadn’t been a tactic he used to disguise himself.

Plus, Crowley was certain that Heaven would have discouraged him from eating and drinking as it could lead to either gluttony or drunkenness. Not that Aziraphale always followed his bosses’ suggestions to the strictest letter, but still….

“Um, scrumptious,” Aziraphale said as he slurped down another oyster. “Simply wonderful.” He wiped his chin with his index finger. “Crowley? You’ve barely touched yours. Are they not to your liking?”

Crowley blinked hard. Hadn’t he just been eating them a few seconds ago? So why were there still so many on his plate?

“No, er, they’re good,” he said, picking one up. “Guess the drinks I had earlier filled me up more than I thought they would.”

“Oh yes, that makes sense,” Aziraphale said with a nod. “Some alcohols are quite filling. I tend to limit myself to two drinks at a time. Wouldn’t want to get drunk, after all. It would be rather unseemly for an angel to be intoxicated.”

“Right, what about this then?” Crowley asked, waving his hand at the mostly empty plate in front of Aziraphale. “Because you also don’t see a lot of angels gulping down oysters.”

“I wasn’t _gulping_ them,” Aziraphale retorted, his tone prim. “I’ll have you know that I was enjoying each and every one. It’s just easier to consume them all at once that way.”

“Well, all right, but when did you start eating human food anyway?”

Aziraphale smiled and turned his attention to the oyster he had in his hands. “It’s such a remarkable thing that humans do. They need food and drink to survive and have to prepare them in a way that makes them safe to consume. But they don’t limit themselves to that. They have made food a craft, an art. It’s more than just nourishment to keep the body going. They make it into a sensual experience and a social one.”

Aziraphale turned his face to look at Crowley, his smile growing. “Food is a means to build bonds with each other. And it’s also such a personal pleasure. Well, how could I live among humans without doing whatever I could to understand them better? I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I had no insight into how they live.”

Crowley smirked and leaned toward him, his chin propped up on his hand. “And that’s the only reason, angel?”

A faint blush appeared on Aziraphale’s cheeks, but his smile did not falter in the slightest. “I’m not sure what you’re implying Crowley.”

Crowley chuckled and tipped his oyster up so he could eat the meat in the shell while Aziraphale did the same. He finished his quickly and noted that the angel took several seconds longer to swallow his mouthful. That and the way Aziraphale closed his eyes briefly and let out a sigh as he did it. It was a sight that created an unexpectedly warm feeling in his abdomen.

Crowley sat his empty shell down; the rest of his oysters forgotten again as he watched Aziraphale finish what was on his plate. Every bite was a moment of bliss for the angel. Each time he took another mouthful of food, Crowley noted that there was the slightest uptick in his angelic glow.

It wasn’t the first time that he had seen Aziraphale be pleased about something. But it was the first time that Crowley could remember seeing the angel in bliss. Purely selfish bliss, no less.

That was also the moment that Crowley realized that he was enjoying himself too, although it had absolutely nothing to do with the oysters.

The rest of the lunch was spent with Aziraphale chatting amiably in between additional oysters, and Crowley wondering how many different ways he could tempt the angel into having lunch with him in the future.


	16. Laying claim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: first times
> 
> This takes place a couple of months after the Notpocalypse. And this one turned into a long one...
> 
> Rating: Mature for sexual content and some language.

It had to have been the oysters they had for dinner earlier. Must have been. Apparently those ideas about what they do to people were true.

It was the only way Crowley could explain what had just happened. One moment, they were snuggled together on the couch in his flat, watching a documentary about the Aztecs and laughing over how the writers had gotten almost everything about them wrong. Especially the parts about the visiting aliens.

The next moment, Aziraphale’s hand was on his thigh, gentle yet firm pressure steadily moving upward. The touch created a warm tingle throughout Crowley’s entire body.

This wasn’t the first time that the angel’s hands had wandered on him. And there had also been plenty of heated kisses and embraces before tonight. But this was the first time that Aziraphale’s touch had been so overtly sensual.

Warm fingers began to inch closer to his crotch, and Crowley squeaked and grabbed Aziraphale’s hand.

“Oh…I’m sorry, Crowley,” Aziraphale said, contrition weighing heavy in his voice. “I didn’t mean to….”

“Stop,” Crowley blurted out. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves. It didn’t help, but at least it gave him a few extra seconds to get his brain working again.

He closed his fingers around the angel’s hand. “It’s not that. It’s, it’s…ngk….”

Crowley dared to glance over at Aziraphale and immediately regretted it. The angel was looking at him with eyes full of longing that were only dimmed by the questions lurking within them. That look made the heat in his groin spread and burn even hotter.

“Look…are you sure about…this?” he finally said. “Because we haven’t, er, talked about it, and, and I need you to understand that I’m not pushing you into anything or….”

“I’m sure,” Aziraphale said quietly with a nod. “Unless…that is if you want to.”

Rather than blunder his way through finding the right words, Crowley decided to give Aziraphale his answer by grabbing him and kissing him with all the hunger and need that had built up over six thousand years. Aziraphale responded with a muffled squawk of surprise, but quickly relaxed into the kiss, opening his mouth to deepen it and to give Crowley full access.

Crowley didn’t need any further invitation. He pushed Aziraphale onto his back, moved lay on top of him, and thrust his tongue in, twisting it into every crevice of the angel’s mouth, tasting him. He could taste the slight after flavor of the oysters they had earlier, but there was also something hot and sweet and uniquely Aziraphale.

Meanwhile, Azirpahale grabbed at Crowley, his fingers scrabbling in a desperate attempt to touch as much of him as possible. Soft whines emerged from the angel’s throat.

Finally, Crowley broke the kiss and sat up between Aziraphale’s legs, gasping for air that he didn’t need.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale moaned, rolling his hips slightly. “Please.”

Crowley hopped off the couch with a growl. “Bedroom. Now.”

Aziraphale climbed off the couch with an unsteady gait, and Crowley nearly pulled him along into the bedroom. Once they were there, Aziraphale fell back onto his back in the center of the bed and spread his legs, making his intentions painfully clear.

Crowley felt his pupils dilate. He was certain that sclera in his eyes was gone, taken over by golden serpentine features. Right now, he did not have a single brain cell to spare for anything that wasn’t Aziraphale.

He waved his hand and got rid of all his clothing except for his black silk boxers. Aziraphale’s eyes widened at the sight, and he raised his hand to perform the same gesture. Before he could though, Crowley slid onto the bed and grabbed his hand again.

“I’ve waited literal millennia to do this,” he said, his breaths heavy. “If you think I’m not going to take my time to enjoy this, you can…er….”

“Go to the devil?” Aziraphale said with a smirk.

Crowley smiled fondly at him. _‘Bastard.’_ “Sssomething like that.”

He let go of Aziraphale’s hand and then moved to sit between his legs. He started on the bowtie, pulling it just right so it came off in one smooth motion. Crowley leaned in to sniff and then mouth his neck. He would mark him later, but he had other ideas in mind first.

Then came the jacket, the waistcoat, and the shoes. Crowley caressed one foot and smiled again at the sight of tartan socks.

Aziraphale giggled. “Crowley, my dear, that tickles.”

The angel tried to pull his foot away, and Crowley instantly let go, but only so he could lean in and give him another long, hungry kiss, making sure to grind his hips over Aziraphale’s. When he sat up again, he noted how flushed the angel’s face was.

He stroked Aziraphale’s chest and then began removing first the shirt and then the undershirt. “It’s like unwrapping the most elaborately packaged gift ever,” he grumbled with absolutely no heat in it.

“I did offer to make this quicker,” Aziraphale reminded him.

“If I have my way, they’ll be nothing quick about this, angel,” Crowley said with a leer. He punctuated his point by removing the last of the clothes on Aziraphale’s torso and rubbing his fingers over the angel’s nipples.

Aziraphale moaned and moved up into the touch while Crowley slid his hands down over the rest of his chest and his stomach. The angel was soft. Soft and warm and Crowley wanted to smother himself within him.

Then came the pants, and Crowley grinned again. “Sock garters? I should have known.”

Aziraphale frowned. “I suppose you’re going to tell me they’re old-fashioned.”

Crowley smirked and ran a hand down Aziraphale’s calf. “Yep. But who cares?” He took his time undoing the garters, occasionally sneaking a hand further up his thigh. His hands pressed against Aziraphale’s legs as he slid each garter and sock off.

Finally, Crowley removed Aziraphale’s boxers and then his own. Aziraphale blushed, a smile on his face as he looked to the side.

Crowley’s own face felt hot. The angel was perfect. Sweetly shy and flustered, but also wanton with the hooded look in his eyes and the way he left himself completely open. This was the moment Crowley had dreamed of, fantasized about. It was finally here, and it was even better than he had imagined.

_‘I could do anything. Anything and everything. I could…I could….’_

And that created an overwhelming pit of dread in his stomach.

“Dear? What….?”

Crowley shook his head and pushed himself backward, swinging his legs around so he could sit on the edge of the bed. He lowered his head into his hands, his fingers curling into fists.

He nearly started when he felt gentle hands clasp his shoulders.

“Crowley, what’s wrong? Am I…are you…disappointed?”

Crowley choked out something that could have been a sob. “God, angel I…no, no, I….” He panted, trying to find a coherent thing to say. Sadly, the only strength he could muster was the shelter of cowardice.

“Aziraphale, you can’t, I….” Crowley gulped. “I’m a demon. Can’t you understand that?”

“Crowley, this is hardly new information to me. I’m not sure what you’re….”

Crowley snarled, lifting his head and whirling around so he could grab Aziraphale by the shoulders. “I’m a fucking demon and when we want something, we take it. We don’t make things soft and sweet and…and that isn’t what you deserve, angel.”

He let go and was about to turn back around, but Aziraphale cupped his face in his hands.

“Demons are also supposed to hate angels and try to destroy them. Whatever you are, Crowley, you’re not a monster. I know I can trust you.”

Crowley ground his jaw. He put his hands onto Aziraphale’s, caressing them and then gripping them. “Not for this, not when this is your first time. This, this is supposed to be….”

The look in Aziraphale’s eyes suddenly shifted from gentle to resolute. “Crowley, do you trust me?”

Crowley blinked hard. “Of course I do.”

The angel took hold of Crowley’s hands and wrists, his thumbs lightly stroking them. “Then let me take care of this, of you.”

He pulled Crowley’s hands up and pressed his lips onto the demon’s fingers. Crowley gulped again, but not out of distress this time. He hadn’t expected this, and he wasn’t sure how to feel about it. In this sort of situation, he preferred to remain in control. To give that control up….

Aziraphale rubbed his cheek against the backs of Crowley hands, his gaze still locked on him. Crowley took a deep breath. How could he have doubted this? That he would ever stop giving his angel everything.

Crowley slowly nodded, and Aziraphale beamed at him and planted a chaste kiss onto his lips.

Then he pulled Crowley back further on the bed and pushed him onto his back. The maneuvering was careful, but Crowley hadn’t missed the strength behind how Aziraphale was manhandling him. For a second, he remembered why demons who knew more about the kind of angel Aziraphale was were rightly afraid of him.

Then Aziraphale was in the position Crowley was in earlier: settled between his legs and gazing down at him like he was an interesting book he was looking forward to studying. The angel laid down on top of him, pressing their bodies together while kissing him. But this wasn’t the sweet kisses or the frantic ones from before. Aziraphale had slipped his hand behind Crowley’s head and pulled him up into these kiss, keeping a firm hold so that Crowley couldn’t back away.

Crowley groaned and met Aziraphale’s movements with a steady grinding of his hips. He could feel himself becoming aroused and knew that Aziraphale would notice it by now too. But the angel seemed unfussed by this. Instead, he continued to explore Crowley’s mouth with his tongue and reached his other hand up to grasp at one of Crowley’s.

Suddenly, Crowley felt a firm bulge against his thigh and turned his face, gasping. He wanted more, but he longed to be the one giving more. “Angel, I, I….”

“I’m not finished, dear,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear before tracing the shell of it with his tongue. Then he sat up, his own pupils blown with only a ring of dark blue visible.

Instead of increasing the friction between them, Aziraphale ran his hands down Crowley’s chest, the touch slow, exploratory, pressure applied in just the right places like around Crowley’s nipples.

A keening noise came from Crowley’s open mouth and he tried lifting his hips upward, but Aziraphale leaned forward, pressing him against the mattress. Then he dipped down and began planting kisses down Crowley’s chest. Each brush of the angel’s lips made heat prickle his skin.

Once he got down toward his hips though, Crowley cried out again and tried to reach for Aziraphale. This wasn’t…he shouldn’t be….

The angel’s response was swift. He lunged back up and grabbed Crowley’s arms, pulling them up over his head and pinning them onto the bed. When Crowley looked into Aziraphale’s eyes, he thought he might be ignited by the fire within them.

“Crowley, dear, I do love you. And I need you to know that I love you because I'm going to be selfish." Aziraphale leaned down, to give him a light kiss to the side of his mouth and then hovered there, his lips ghosting just above Crowley's.

"Because I want you to be mine alone. All of you. Every touch of your hands, every sound you make, every part of this moment, everything that you are, and everything that you are willing to give me. I want all of it."

Aziraphale tightened his hold on Crowley’s wrists and ground his hips hard against Crowley’s, causing the demon to cry out.

“Yours, angel,” he managed to splutter. “All yours.”

Aziraphale beamed at him again and didn’t let go of Crowley’s wrists and he scooted back down again, making sure that Crowley couldn’t move. The kisses that trailed down this time were sloppier with more tongue and teeth, and Crowley realized that Aziraphale was trying to devour him.

That thought was confirmed in the next moment when he felt that wet heat move down further still as the angel took him into his mouth. Crowley groaned loudly and it deflated to a hiss by the end. Soon, Aziraphale bobbed his head, and Crowley tried to squirm, but the angel held fast.

“A-angel, ngk…you…G---fuck….How…..fuck….”

Crowley groaned again. Every muscle in his hips was coiled, ready to thrust forward, but he refused to move. Not with Aziraphale sucking him like that. Instead, he let his loll back and forth as waves of pleasure rippled through him.

Aziraphale lifted his head and moved back up to face him again. Crowley gaped at him. _‘Of course, that that bastard is smiling again. Of course he is.’_

“Aziraphale, where…where did you…where’d you learn about…about that?”

Aziraphale chuckled. “I’ve read _a lot_ of books, my dear.”

“Books?! Fucking hell, you…oh, can’t believe I said that,” Crowley gasped.

Crowley tried to sit up again, but Aziraphale simply laughed and went back to pinning Crowley’s arms over his head.

“Let me,” Aziraphale said softly. Then he adjusted his hold so that Crowley’s wrists were in one hand and his other reached down and started stroking both of them at the same time.

Crowley arched up again, another sob coming out. A tiny part of him was screaming at him, telling him that this was wrong. That an angel shouldn’t be touching him this way. That he shouldn’t be the one just taking and taking and taking everything that Aziraphale was giving him.

But then he looked up into the angel’s eyes and had to force himself to remember to keep breathing. The way Aziraphale was touching him felt amazing, but even that couldn’t compare to the way that the angel was looking at him. That look of deep, steadfast affection that also burned with the desire to possess him completely.

Aziraphale loved him. But just as importantly, he _wanted_ him. He wanted him wholly and without restriction.

Crowley hips moved frantically now, trying desperately to speed up Aziraphale’s strokes. The angel was merciful and reciprocated, his own moans beginning to blur with Crowley’s.

He hadn’t meant for it to happen so fast, but suddenly Crowley felt his movements begin to jerk, the passion that was consuming him taking over, making him convulse with pleasure. Only seconds later, warmth pooled in his lower abdomen and then spread as he released.

Thankfully, Aziraphale came immediately afterward, and Crowley was able to enjoy the sight of his angel coming undone with tears in his eyes, the first bit of vulnerability he had shown during all this.

Once they were both done, Aziraphale collapsed forward, covering Crowley with his body again. He let the demon’s arms go, and Crowley immediately wrapped them around Aziraphale.

“Crowley, I love you,” Aziraphale said in a sleepy, content murmur. Crowley felt his own eyes water, up and he quickly brushed them away with a frustrated swipe.

“Remember, angel, I’m yours.” he whispered through a hiccup. _‘Always yours. Yours only and completely.’_


	17. Worthy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: church.
> 
> This takes place somewhere around the 1980s. 
> 
> Rating: Teen for some violence.

_‘A church. Of course it had to be a church. What else could it be?’_

Crowley grimaced. He was still a half a mile away from the small, humble structure in his sights, but he was already feeling the effects of its presence. This church was old, steeped in centuries of holy worship and reverence. The ground just outside it was probably consecrated enough to give a demon the equivalent of a bad sunburn.

Inside those walls, it would be like walking on fire.

It was the very last place that would be safe for Crowley to go to. It was also the first bit of shelter he had seen in what felt like forever.

Since the moment he had found Aziraphale’s limp body lying on the ground.

* * *

From the moment the announcement had been made in Hell, Crowley knew there would be trouble. Someone had released a Hell-Beast onto Earth and someone had to head up there to take care of it.

This wasn’t something Beelzebub had approved or was officially sanctioned elsewhere due to how uncontrollable these Beasts tended to be. They usually attacked everything they came in contact with, including the demons who were supposed to be their handlers. Thus, they were expressly forbidden for use on Earth as spelled out in the informal treaty Hell had with Heaven.

Of course, Crowley did occasionally wonder why Beelzebub would allow creatures that could serve no useful purpose due to said treaty to continue to exist in Hell in the first place. But he knew better than to actually ask that question out loud. Besides, this was Hell. Wouldn’t be right if they didn’t consistently operate in underhanded ways.

The Beast in question, thankfully, had only maimed the demon who had released it. Thus, they were able to inform Beelzebub about what happened before the Lord of Hell destroyed them.

Hastur and Liger made it known that they would have liked to handle the job, but Crowley was the first one to actually volunteer.

“I’ll go,” he muttered. “I’ll round it up. Or take it out. Nobody will even know it was there.”

Liger glowered at him. “Why should he get to…?”

“Shut it!” Beelzebub snapped. “It izz a good idea. The…Opposition knowzz he’zz supposed to be stationed on Earth. They won’t be watching him az closely as they would someone else. I don’t want them knowing it wazz ever there.”

Crowley mustered up a smirk at the thought of getting under Hastur’s and Liger’s skins, but that was quickly extinguished when he realized he was committed to dealing with a Hell-Beast.

The truth was, Crowley knew that Hastur and Liger wouldn’t have treated this with any urgency. If a few or a few dozen humans were killed while they took their time to methodically track the Beast down, it wasn’t any loss to them. But for Crowley…in his eyes, the vast majority of humans didn’t deserve that sort of fate.

Plus, there was the well-known fact that Hell-Beasts were particularly antagonistic toward angels, and Crowley was certain that one trouble-prone angel would end up being its target.

Consequently, instead of trying the traditional means of tracking infernal animals down, Crowley simply headed off to the village he knew Aziraphale was currently staying in. Sure enough, as he approached it, he could also sense the Hell-Beast lurking nearby.

His day got even worse when he started to talk to the locals to try to find Aziraphale.

“Mr. Fell? Oh yes, he’s here. Or rather, he was. He went for a walk in the woods with our priest. Such a nice man. Our priest, Father Mark, loves nature and goes there every day to….”

Crowley didn’t bother to hang around to hear the rest. An angel and a priest walking together to an isolated area. It would be like putting out a platter of prime rib steaks in an area that was filled with starving wild dogs. The only question that remained was how fast the Hell-Beast would pick up the scent.

He dashed out into the woods, zigzagging about randomly until he could pinpoint the trail of infernal energy that the Beast generated. Ignoring the far more sensible voice in his head to run in the opposite direction, Crowley followed it at an ever increasing speed until he finally came upon it.

Unfortunately, that was also when he found Aziraphale and what was left of the local priest.

Crowley gulped and did his best to ignore the human’s remains. He would have to make sure the body was buried because no one else deserved to be traumatized by…that.

But what was making his heart pound erratically was how still Aziraphale was. Still and with blood and golden ichor streaming down his temple and smeared on his unfurled wings.

Oh and of course, there was still that Hell-Beast to deal with.

Crowley quaked, but held his ground. The mass of bright red, matted fur and dual rows of knife-sharp teeth was turning toward him, clearly trying to decide if it wanted to stick with the tasty meal in front of it or enjoy the thrill of a new challenge.

However, when it turned around, Crowley could see that there were streams of black ooze trickling from a large wound near its heart. The faint white glow around it meant that the angel had probably landed a solid blow against it. It only needed one more deadly strike to destroy it.

And then Crowley knew just what to do.

Interestingly enough, not everything in Hell was completely immune to Hellfire, including demons. Exposure of differing levels could eventually kill many things that lived in close proximity to it at all times.

For someone like Crowley, Hellfire would take hours of intense exposure to make a difference. However, it was quite another story for a Hell-Beast that was already suffering from a holy wound.

Crowley ground his jaw and concentrated. In no time at all, a flicker of Hellfire appeared on his fingertips. The Beast, having made its decision, snarled and began to slowly move toward him.

“Big mistake,” Crowley said with a grin. He thrust his hands out in front of him and aimed straight for the wound on its chest. The Hellfire met its target, and the Hell-Beast burst into screeching flames and disintegrated seconds later.

However, Crowley didn’t have the luxury of being pleased with how easily he took care of the horrible thing. Not with Aziraphale….

Crowley dashed over and dropped to his knees on the ground beside the angel. He tried shaking him and then using a miracle to bring him around, but neither one worked.

_‘I got to get him out of here. Got to find a place where I can work on patching him up.’_

* * *

That thought led to a several mile trek with Crowley carrying the angel to where they were now: a place that was in the middle of nowhere and that was completely empty save for the church nearby.

Crowley grimaced again. Aziraphale would have a much better chance of recovering if he could do more of the work of healing himself and being in a church like that could give him the energy he needed to wake up and start the process.

_‘Right. Might as well get on with it then.’_

He tried to focus on that thought as he tightened his grip on Aziraphale and began his deliberate march toward the church. Still, he couldn’t get rid of the other thought that screamed at him every step of the way.

_‘This is going to be painful.’_

It didn’t take long for Crowley to be proven right. As soon as he got within a few yards of the church, his feet began to feel like he was rubbing them over lava. Tears streamed down his face, but he continued to walk toward it.

Once he got to the door, he gently laid Aziraphale down onto the ground and then taking a deep breath before reaching for the handle. When he touched it, he yelped and pulled his hand back to find fresh, oozing blisters.

Crowley swiped his face with his coat sleeve, tears still running in rivets down his cheeks, his lower lip bleeding from where he bit it in an attempt to clamp down the pain. Walking into this church might not just be agonizing. It might also be enough to discorporate or even destroy him. Every inflamed, anguished nerve in his body begged him to turn back now.

But then he caught sight of the motionless angel on the ground who hadn’t opened his eyes once during this whole ordeal.

_‘Sorry angel….’_

Crowley sniffed hard and grabbed at the door with both hands. He heard the disgusting crackle of his flesh burning, but ignored it while he shoved it open. Then he picked Aziraphale up and walked inside.

It was then that he realized that he had been wrong. It wasn’t agonizing to walk in here. It was far worse than that. Crowley was certain that he could feel the cells of his body dissolving away.

“Aziraphale!” he cried out as he dropped to his knees again and then, mercifully, fell unconscious.

* * *

“Crowley? Crowley, dear, please wake up. Crowley….”

_‘Is it raining? That’s what it feels like. But wait…how could it rain in a church? Can’t be.’_

_‘But if it’s not raining, then what’s dripping onto my face?’_

Crowley took a moment to distract himself from the dull aches he felt to try to work out these questions. Eventually, he came to the conclusion that it must be tears on his face.

Then he came to the much more disturbing conclusion that they weren’t his tears.

Crowley’s eyes popped open with a gasp. His vision blurred for several seconds until it settled on a very worried angel staring down at him.

“Aziraphale,” he croaked. “You….”

“Oh, Crowley, thank Heaven,” Aziraphale sniffled holding Crowley’s hands tightly in his own shaking ones. “When I woke up and found you lying in that church, I, I thought…. Crowley, what were you thinking, going in there?”

“Not my idea,” Crowley groaned as he struggled to sit up. “Well, not an idea I wanted.” He pulled his hands out of Azirpahale’s and glanced at them. He was surprised to see that the blisters had vanished. Definitely Aziraphale’s doing. Aziraphale was always much better at healing than him. Part of the essential nature of an angel.

Then he remembered why he had gotten those blisters in the first place and grabbed Aziraphale’s shoulders.

“Angel, are you all right? Did that Beast hurt you?”

Aziraphale looked down, shame clouding his eyes. “Not really. He did swipe at me a few times, but I had managed to disable it with a sharp branch that the father and I blessed in the heat of battle. You…you did get rid of it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, it’s dead,” Crowley said, rubbing his face. “But if you had the upper hand….”

“I did, but then, I…I let myself be distracted,” Aziraphale said, still looking down. “I tried to warn Mark to get away and when he refused, I argued with him. That was all the opening that that terrible monster needed. It lunged at me, and I tried to block it, but then I was thrown back against a tree. It knocked me out completely.”

The angel shook his head and let out a short, sad laugh. “It’s a miracle that it didn’t kill me.”

“Probably was distracted by its next prey,” Crowley mumbled. Azirphale’s head shot up.

“You mean…Mark…he….”

Crowley shook his head, and Aziraphale slumped down again.

“He was so kind, so gentle,” the angel said, his voice thick with fresh tears. “He did so much for that village. He might have been a saint someday. And now he’s…all because I wasn’t….”

Crowley frowned and clasped Aziraphale’s arms again. “It’s not your fault, angel. You did your best against a creature that could have easily taken out a duke of Hell.”

Aziraphale shook his head, a pair of tears sliding down his face. “But…it, it never should have happened. Not for me. And then you, you were almost destroyed going in there. Just like you did before, during the war. It…it’s just such a waste.”

Crowley squeezed the angel’s arms before reaching over to cup Azirphale’s chin, gingerly lifting it up.

“No, Aziraphale. Not a waste. You are worth it. You were back then and you were just now. You always will be worth it. Always.”


	18. Absit Omen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: you go too fast for me.
> 
> This takes place just after the scene in the Bentley in 1967 at the beginning of Episode Three.
> 
> Rating: G

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Crowley tightened his hold on the thermos in his hands. He was aware that the pressure he was putting it under could be enough to make it crack, a fatal mistake. Not that he really cared about that right now.

_‘Too fast!? Too fast? What the Heaven does that mean, too fast? Bastard. I’ve never made a move and he…’_

_‘…well, ok, there was the chocolates I sent him when his bookshop opened…and that bit with the books in the church…and that night during the Renaissance on the terrace…and that time back in 1710 when we got **really** drunk and….’_

Crowley took a shuddering breath. The inescapable truth was, he had tried to tell Aziraphale that he loved him in a thousand tiny ways since their first meeting in the Garden. But every time, every single time, he had made sure to hold himself back. Whenever he saw Aziraphale, he made sure to silently chant the rules he had come up with over and over.

_‘Don’t make kind gestures too grand. Or too obvious. Don’t show too much relief when he shows up. Or too much joy.’ _

_‘Don’t push him too hard about Heaven. Don’t forget to push hard enough when he’s hurting.’_

_‘Don’t touch him unless it’s necessary. Don’t say the words.’_

_‘Don’t…don’t…don’t….’_

It had been torturous, but Crowley refused to let himself stumble. At least, never in a way that couldn’t be explained away or brushed aside with the right distraction. 

For the most part, it worked. Aziraphale wasn’t put off by or scared of their interactions. Instead, they had developed a cozy routine of meeting up under the pretense of work concerns and then allowing it to bloom into much more with the excuse of being civil and social.

Sometimes, it even went beyond sharing a meal or spending a day together. Like that time when they spent an entire year in each other’s company when Aziraphale had been granted a respite to recover from a grueling assignment in the desert.

Of course, there was the expected posturing from Aziraphale every once in a while that revolved around Heaven’s propaganda. That was easy to ignore. Later on, Aziraphale added in concerns over the potential punishments Crowley could be facing from Hell due to their association. While that was far more touching, it was also much more problematic to dismiss with the assurance that no one need know about what they were doing.

Overall though, the Arrangement had evolved into a sort of friendship, an easy camaraderie. It was good. It was comfortable. It was a pleasant way to get through the endless stretch of Eternity. And it still fell far short of what Crowley truly wanted. A want that would not diminish no matter how many times Crowley tried to tell himself it would never happen and no matter how many times Aziraphale did or said something to confirm it.

So he continued to try, gingerly offering tiny pieces of his love with rescues from Parisian jails, gifts of rare editions, and even a couple times when he tucked the angel in to sleep off a particularly hard night of drinking. Eventually, Aziraphale would notice. Eventually, he would sense the feelings that surrounded Crowley and acknowledge them.

And the foundation for that unshakable faith had been the belief that Aziraphale might feel the same way about him. That maybe that was what was behind the warm smiles he frequently had for him, the relaxed demeanor they had while they talked over meals, and the care the angel had consistently shown for his wellbeing.

That there was love there which just needed time and nurturing to become strong enough to express itself.

With that faith to fortify him, Crowley knew it was just a matter of being strong and patient enough to break through the hold Heaven had on Aziraphale. If that was the only thing standing in his way, Crowley was willing to spend however long it took to free the angel from their manipulative grip.

_“You go too fast for me, Crowley.”_

Just a few quiet words, spoken as gently as possible, but they had the impact of an earthquake.

Crowley’s hands trembled. It wasn’t the rejection of his offer to take the angel somewhere that had gotten to him. There had been plenty of other times in the past when Aziraphale had turned down the offer of his company for a multitude of reasons. Some much less hurtful than others.

No, it was the possibility that he had been wrong all along. That Aziraphale was trying to tell him the terrible truth that there was no “us”, no “together” and there never would be in the softest way possible.

No chance, no future, no hope.

_‘Don’t…don’t…don’t….’_

_“Don’t go unscrewing the cap.”_

Crowley gasped and blinked his eyes rapidly. Aziraphale was still hoping that he would never use it. The angel had risked so much to give him something he desperately did not want to give him: a thermos of holy water wrapped in that absurd tartan that he….

That he wouldn’t have used if there wasn’t a reason for it.

Because that was how Aziraphale was. Everything with a purpose. No words or gestures without a nuance behind them. When Aziraphale applied tartan to things around him, it usually was for his own comfort and amusement.

This was neither of those things. This was a message for Crowley.

Crowley carefully placed the thermos into the metal box he had prepared with wards, resting his hand on the lid after he closed it. There was something Aziraphale wasn’t saying with words, and it would be up to him to figure it out.

That was as good of a reason as any to hold onto hope.


	19. Finding One's Footing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Regency.
> 
> I decided to go with the a scene that takes place after the missing Regency/Bookshop opening scene from Episode Three that was described in one of the special editions of the Script Book. For those who haven't read it, basically, Gabriel shows up to offer Aziraphale a promotion and the chance to return to Heaven. Crowley hears about this and manages to trick Gabriel into thinking that Aziraphale was still needed on Earth.
> 
> It's wonderful, hilarious, sweetly romantic...and still is the missing scene I wish more than anything had made it onto the show. 
> 
> Rating: G

_‘This isn’t what you think it is.’_

Aziraphale’s face fell despite the joy he had felt when he opened the beautiful box of chocolates in his hands. As lovely and scrumptious as they appeared to be, how he had gotten them would not leave him alone.

* * *

Yesterday had been odd. 

It had started off dreadfully with Gabriel threatening to send him back to Heaven. Well, perhaps _threaten_ wasn’t the accurate word. It was supposed to be a promotion after all. But that didn’t make the move back to Heaven any less unwanted.

For an instant, Aziraphale had thought that things couldn’t get any worse. Then he spotted Crowley hovering just outside the bookshop near his front window, a box of chocolates in his hands.

Outwardly, Aziraphale had miraculously managed to appear calm. Inside, he was an anxious mess and was vigorously chastising himself for forgetting that Crowley had made a vague comment the day before about stopping by for the official opening of the angel’s new bookshop. If Gabriel or Sandalphon saw him….

Thankfully, that didn’t happen. In fact, the rest of his day went surprisingly well. After dropping by to visit his tailor, Gabriel returned and rescinded his offer of a promotion and a return to Heaven.

At the time, Aziraphale had been confused. Gabriel appeared to be set on the idea, and apparently Michael had already been chosen as his replacement. He wondered what on Earth could have compelled the archangel to change his mind so quickly. Gabriel didn’t explain his reasons, and Aziraphale refused to dwell on it.

However, when he got a delivery of a box of chocolates this morning, the same chocolates he had seen Crowley carrying, the mystery had vanished. And if the angel had even the slightest doubt about his conclusions, they were whisked away when he read the card that was inside.

_“Bookshop looks great. Sorry about the promotion. Lunch next week? C”_

* * *

Aziraphale pulled the card of his pocket and read it again. So, Crowley was the reason behind Gabriel’s change of heart. The fact that Gabriel didn’t mention to him meant two things:

  1. That he hadn’t interacted with Crowley directly.
  2. That Crowley’s ruse was elaborate enough for Gabriel to not want to admit that a demon had him concerned.

_‘Crowley lied. He lied to Gabriel. He lied to Heaven.’ _

_‘He didn’t want you promoted. He wanted to keep you here at his level.’_

Aziraphale sighed and stuffed the card back into his pocket. He recognized that voice inside his head for what it was: the cumulative effect of millennia of Heaven’s belief systems being fed to him on a daily basis. He had eventually learned that he couldn’t rely on this voice the way he could his own intuition.

But that didn’t change the unsettling fact that the voice sounded so much like his own. Or the fact that it was so deeply entwined with the thoughts and feelings he had day by day.

_‘He’s trying to distract you from what he’s doing. He’s trying to tempt you. That’s what he does.’_

_‘He’s trying to draw you away from Heaven’s influence.’_

_“Yes, yes he is, isn’t he?”_

Times like this made Aziraphale wonder if there was any logic to Ineffability. How could logic exist in a world where his peers, his family, offering him a better existence was bad, and his Enemy sabotaging him was good?

Then again, Aziraphale was often convinced that the flaw was not in the Great Plan, but in himself. What kind of angel would welcome the affection of a demon and shun the praise of Heaven? What sort of angel would deny himself the company of the Host so he could remain on Earth?

Aziraphale sank down onto a nearby chair, his gaze still fixed upon the chocolates in his hands.

_‘He only does this for himself. Better to stick with the angel he knows he can deal with rather than one who would act as an angel should.’_

_“Yes…as an angel should, I suppose….”_

Aziraphale bowed his head. He knew that he was an outcast on Earth mainly because he was a celestial being living among mortal humans. But he had clung to the notion that he still belonged _to_ Heaven and thus belonged _within_ it. True, most of the other angels made their disdain or indifference to him known, but he was still one of them.

However, if he could so easily reject his own voice reminding him of Heaven’s perspective on Crowley, did he really belong with them either?

The angel was surprised he could still feel his heart beating. It currently felt so incredibly heavy. Also, the voice had gone silent. That wasn’t surprising. It always disappeared once gloom had settled into his soul.

Aziraphale’s fingers danced over the chocolates and he chose a lovely one that was shaped like a shell. He put it into his mouth, his eyes sliding shut when the flavor melted onto his tongue.

_“They’re even better than they looked. But they would be. Crowley chose them.”_

_“He would never choose anything less.”_

Aziraphale opened his eyes, relieved. Finally, he had an anchor he could hold onto again. Crowley would always choose the nicest, loveliest, softest things for him. And the demon knew that Aziraphale would be happy with far less. That less would not be an insult to the angel when weighted against the fact that no one else held out their hand to Aziraphale at all.

But it would be an insult to Crowley. Aziraphale could _feel_ that even if he couldn’t objectively prove it.

Aziraphale placed another chocolate into his mouth and stood up. He needed to get to a florist before the morning was over so he could arrange a delivery in time to suggest lunch tomorrow rather than next week.


	20. Contra Spem Spero

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Apocalypse.
> 
> This scene takes place right after the bandstand scene toward the end of Episode Three.
> 
> Rating: Teen mainly for a little cursing and implied abuse.

Over.

That had to be one of the worst four letter words in this English language the humans made up. Far worse than any of the curse words and just about as bad as other inflammatory words they had like “hate” or “kill”. The word was different in other tongues. _Oshimai_ was the equivalent in Japanese. The French would say something like _c’est fini_.

But all of it meant the same thing: the end. No more, done. Something was lost and would not come back no matter how much you needed it or wanted to hold onto it.

_“There is no ‘our side’, Crowley.”_

_“It’s over.”_

Crowley quickened his pace from a defiant saunter to a near run. He could have gone back to the Bentley. It was only a few yards away. But then, where would he go? Anywhere and nowhere were the same to him now. And besides, he had no way of knowing how many mushy Queen songs he’d have to endure along the way.

No, as much as he wanted to wrap himself into the meager comfort of the confines of his car, Crowley knew that wouldn’t be enough. _‘Would anything, really?’_

By now, he was running along thankfully empty walkways. It was fast. He was alone. It still wasn’t enough.

Jet black wings spread out and lifted him upward before his feet had the chance to touch the ground again. He flew as swiftly as he could, the streets below him melding into a blur.

When another coherent thought was finally able to reach his brain, Crowley suddenly realized that he wasn’t in London anymore. He was in Yorkshire, Scarborough from the look of it, right up on the coast. He slowed down and descended to land on the beach.

The sun was almost gone. No humans were out, and the only sound was of the ocean rushing toward the shore. He was completely alone.

_‘And probably will be for the rest of Eternity. Or the next day or so. Whatever comes first.’_

Crowley arched his wings upward one last time before tucking them away. This wasn’t the first time that their relationship, Arrangement, whatever it was, had been threatened. Being an angel and a demon attempting to coexist was bound produce friction and there had been plenty of that. The tension between them had taken the forms of words misspoken or taken the wrong way, miracles and temptations that were at odds and had no easy compromises.

And toward the center of it all was Aziraphale’s stubborn, blind clinging to Heaven’s rhetoric.

Crowley clenched his hands, claws coming out just enough to leave bleeding crescents on his palms. Why couldn’t the angel see what was right in front of him? That it was up to them to stop the Apocalypse from happening? Why did he persist in believing that Heaven was going to miraculously swoop in and fix everything? He should know better by now.

_‘But no, not Aziraphale. Not Mr.“I’m The Nice One And I’m Going To Champion Heaven’s Cause Even When It Destroys Everything It Touches.” Probably already knows where the Antichrist is and isn’t going to tell me, just like he said he wouldn’t.’_

_‘Bastard. You stupid, selfish, clueless bastard.’_

Crowley’s chest heaved several times, his breaths becoming painful. It was so easy to give into his anger, his hurt, his frustration built up over thousands of years wasted pining over an angel that would always, always choose Heaven over him.

Except…Aziraphale hadn’t…not always….

Tears burned in Crowley’s eyes and this time, he let them fall. No, Aziraphale didn’t always do what he was told. He rebelled in hundreds of small, quiet ways. The most glaring one of all being the Arrangement which had encompassed far more than just making work smoother. It had stretched to include protecting each other and keeping an eye on each other’s wellbeing.

Something no mindlessly obedient angel would ever do for a demon.

Crowley felt his throat tighten, but the burning anger in his heart was starting to fade. As tempting as it was, he wasn’t going to put all of this on Aziraphale. A lot of his memories of Heaven were erased during his Fall, but he remembered how controlling their culture was and how angels were frequently micromanaged to an oppressive degree.

And if the angels weren’t “good” enough and yet still considered salvageable, Heaven had plenty of ways to forcibly imprint its edicts into their servants’ minds. Crowley was certain that many of them had been applied to Aziraphale at some point or another.

Plus, there was the simple fact that some angels were assholes. Bullies who were cloaked in Divine Will and who took pleasure in tormenting anyone who didn’t live up to their standards even if they would never admit it. Crowley was also certain that Aziraphale had suffered plenty of that sort of abuse too.

The angel was kind, clever and strong, but no one could be expected to endure what he had for six thousand years and not have it warp their thinking even a little. The fact that Aziraphale had tried to fight against how he had been manipulated and would genuinely care about others was both endearing and heartbreaking to Crowley.

Crowley sniffed hard. Aziraphale was partially to blame for this mess, but Crowley would rather tear his own heart out than try to hate him for it. Or even stay mad at him for very long.

Besides, there was more pressing stuff to think about right now. The Apocalypse was still coming and they needed to do something about the Antichrist. If Crowley’s suspicions were correct, and even if they weren’t, he would likely need Aziraphale’s help to accomplish this.

Once again, he was going to have to persuade Aziraphale to see past Heaven’s brainwashing. But this time, the stakes involved would not allow for any failure. The problem was, he wasn’t sure if Aziraphale could be convinced. Or if the angel cared about the same things he did anymore.

Aziraphale might have spoken in the heat of anger and fear, but Crowley couldn’t deny that there was a possibility that this was simply an outburst that would have come eventually. That Aziraphale had been thinking about severing things between them for a while and that his decision would not change even if by faint chance they did avert Armageddon.

For now though, time was running out. Unfortunately, Crowley couldn’t completely shake the feeling that it already had run out for him.


	21. Forward Step

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: dancing.
> 
> This takes place several months after the Notpocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: G

Once in a while, Crowley regretted sleeping through the majority of the 1800s.

Most of the time, he was convinced that he didn’t miss much. Apparently, the humans had gotten along just fine as far as everyday temptations went. Probably in large part due to the rigid social conventions of Victorian society, a fact that was sure to piss off Gabriel as he was sure to have had something to do with it.

On a bigger scale, imperialism was in full swing so there were plenty of terrible things happening worldwide. When he finally did wake up, there was a buffet of awful events that Crowley could take advantage of to craft highly favorable progress reports.

On a personal level, Crowley was more than happy to sleep through most of the gloom and turmoil that he had been grappling with. It wasn’t the overall horribleness of the 14th century, but it was a century when the reality of eternity was beginning to weigh down on him.

Sleeping, letting himself get lost in dreams and memories of happier times, was the far better alternative to dwelling on almost losing Aziraphale twice in such a short number of years. Especially when both of those times had been partially due to a failure on his part.

However, right now while watching Aziraphale demonstrate the gavotte in Crowley’s flat, he wished he had spent at least a few more of those years awake.

Crowley leaned back against the couch and propped an elbow onto one of the arms so he could rest his chin on the heel of his hand. He still thought that the gavotte was ridiculous and had thought so ever since he had heard about it from Aziraphale and had looked up videos to see how it was done. The angel had offered to teach him a couple of times, but Crowley had made it clear that this would be a solitary hobby for Aziraphale, much like his magic act.

Besides, it was much better to watch the angel do it. Mainly because of the glorious smile Aziraphale had while he danced. In Crowley’s mind, that would always fully justify the gavotte’s existence. It was a smile of pure, inhibited joy, and it was one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen. It was a type of smile Crowley wished he could see far more often on the angel’s face.

The music drew to a close, and Aziraphale flung his arms out to either side of him, his face lit up with exhilaration. Crowley clapped, and Aziraphale beamed at him.

“There, my dear, doesn’t that look like fun?”

The fond smirk on Crowley’s face grew. “It’s a lot more fun to watch you do it.” Aziraphale lowered his arms with a huff.

“Oh now you are just making fun of me.” That made Crowley bolt upright in his seat.

“No angel, I swear to you, I’m not. It’s just….” Crowley pursed his lips, trying to think of the best way to ask this question. Then he went back to what he normally did and blurted it out.

“Why did you learn the gavotte anyway? I thought angels didn’t dance. I don’t remember any dancing from when I was in Heaven, and I doubt that things changed Up There that much after I left.” Although the thought of Gabriel or G—Somebody forbid, _Sandalphon_ dancing was an extremely amusing thought.

“No, no it hasn’t changed like that,” Aziraphale said with a chuckle.

Crowley, relieved that he hadn’t spoiled the angel’s good mood, patted the space on the couch beside him. Aziraphale took the hint and sat down next to him.

“Back when I made friends with some humans at one of their ‘gentleman’s clubs’, I used to watch the other men dance,” he continued. “They always looked so happy, so liberated. Then Thomas…a truly lovely person…said he would teach me if I wanted to join in. At first, I thought I was accepting out of politeness…but then, I realized that I, I….”

Crowley reached over and clasped Aziraphale’s hand. _‘You were happy to be asked. To be included.’_

“Mind you, it wasn’t easy at first,” Aziraphale added. “What they say about angels not dancing does have a basis in fact. The fact that we don’t have the proclivity for it to be exact. But Thomas was a patient teacher, and along the way it became so much fun to do.”

Aziraphale looked over and smiled at Crowley, curling his fingers around the demon’s. Then he scooted over so he could lean against him.

“I think one of my happiest moments at the club was the first time I joined the line of dancers. When I was good enough to really be one of them. I kept thinking how I had done this. That even though angels don’t dance, I was able to do it.”

Aziraphale laughed. “Oh I know it’s a silly thing, but….”

“Not silly at all, angel,” Crowley said, squeezing his hand. “I always knew you were clever. Too clever to let ‘shouldn’t be able to’ get you down.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew and he did that slow blink he did when he was mildly embarrassed at how Crowley was complimenting him. That face was too adorable for Crowley to leave alone so he leaned over for a kiss which Aziraphale readily reciprocated.

“How about we try a new dance we could do together?” Crowley murmured once their lips parted. “A waltz.”

“Oh, a waltz, how lovely. I remember seeing people waltz at parties in France back in the 1700s,” Aziraphale said. “But I, I should warn you that I’m not a very fast learner.”

Crowley laughed and stroked the angel’s cheek. “That’s ok. I’m good with taking however long you need.”


	22. Sacrifice

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Golgotha.
> 
> In the Bible, Luke 22:43 mentions that an angel appeared to Jesus while He was praying on the Mount of Olives (or the garden of Gethsemane according to the books of Matthew and Mark) to comfort and strengthen Him in preparation for the Crucifixion.   
Thus, I do head canon that Aziraphale was the angel who came given how he was already dwelling on Earth and later attended the Crucifixion. It fits neatly with how Aziraphale loved humanity and would feel a great attachment to God in human form. 
> 
> Rating: G

_“But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was on him” _

_“And by his wounds we are healed.”_

Aziraphale stared silently as the Roman soldiers led the Son to what would be His execution. He had hoped that he would be numb after seeing the numerous tortures that God the Son had endured up to this point, but the sight of this latest punishment was another wound to his heart.

_“If you are the Son of God, throw yourself down; for it is written, 'He will give his angels charge of you,' and 'On their hands they will bear you up, lest you strike your foot against a stone.”_ Isn’t that what Crawly had told Him? It was one of the few times that Aziraphale could remember when Crawly demonstrated his current ignorance of the nature of angels.

The fact was, the Son did not need to goad Aziraphale into protecting Him. Aziraphale knew without question that he would offer his protection willingly and without hesitation, even if it had meant his own destruction.

Aziraphale could hear Him pray for the humans who were persecuting Him, and fresh tears welled up in his eyes. He refused to let them fall. Heaven was more likely than ever to be watching him and he wasn’t going to give them an excuse to remove him from his post.

Not when he had a promise to keep.

* * *

It had started, as so many important moments of Aziraphale’s life did, in a garden.

He had just received news from Gabriel that the Holy Son was to be a sacrifice for humanity’s sins. A decision that broke Aziraphale’s heart.

_“But what of all His work on Earth? His teaching? The miracles and blessings? His presence will spread light all over the world.”_

_“Aziraphale…it is not for us to question the Great Plan.”_

There were many other things on the tip of Aziraphale’s tongue, but he knew that those words were meant to be the end of the conversation. There was no point in discussing it further with anyone in Heaven.

Instead, he searched for the Son and found Him praying alone in a garden. At first, he wondered if he was intruding on a moment that was meant for Her alone. But then he heard an anguished sob and knew that he couldn’t walk away.

Fortunately, any further decisions about what he should do were made for him a second later.

“Aziraphale, come closer.”

Aziraphale nodded and crept toward Him. They had met several times over the years: the night of His birth, a couple of times when He was a boy growing up in Galilee, not long before His baptism, and just after His temptation in the wilderness. Even though Aziraphale always felt the weight of reverence when he approached Him, he was also surprised to feel none of the anxiety he often felt when he visited Heaven.

“My Lord,” he said, bowing his head. “I, I just heard….”

“Yes,” He said. “It will begin very soon. By tomorrow, I shall be dead.”

“My Lord, is there no other way?” Aziraphale cried. “There must be something else….”

“It is the will of God who is in Heaven,” the Son replied. “You and I understand what that means.”

“But they mean to destroy you,” Aziraphale blurted out. He moved closer and clutched at His sleeve. “Please, My Lord, let me take you somewhere safe so we can think of another way.”

A sad smile appeared on His face. “Would you tempt me too, Aziraphale?”

Shame twisted Aziraphale’s features as he let go and bowed even deeper. “Please forgive me Lord. I, I shouldn’t have….”

“I forgive you,” He said, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder. “When you were in Heaven, you were a Guardian of the Throne. It is only natural that you still wish to protect me.”

He gently squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Besides, how could I not forgive you when I had the same thought myself? Frailty is one of the prices I must pay to exist in this body.”

Aziraphale raised his head. “Is there nothing I can do?”

The Son turned to look at a group of humans that were sleeping nearby. “My disciples have abandoned me. As I knew they would.”

“I shall not abandon you, Lord,” Aziraphale said, his voice steel. The Son turned to look at him again.

“You cannot interfere, Aziraphale.”

“I won’t. But I still won’t leave you. I promise.”

Another hint of a smile appeared on the Son’s face, but Aziraphale’s heart clenched as beads of blood appeared on His brow.

“Then I ask you to stay with me for this moment,” He said. “Before it begins.”

He sank to the ground, and Aziraphale lowered himself down next to Him. Once they were sitting on the grass, Aziraphale unfolded his wings and held out his arms, the Son willingly falling into them.

“Soon, I shall rejoin God in Heaven,” He whispered, His voice strained with pain. “But you shall remain on Earth, Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. Never forget your duty to the people of this world.”

“I won’t,” Aziraphale said, holding Him close. “I will watch over them.”

The Son took one of Aziraphale’s hands into His. “I know you will. You were chosen with purpose, Aziraphale. Hold that to your heart.”

Then He fell silent, continuing to pray and allowing Aziraphale to embrace Him. Aziraphale closed his eyes and allowed the Grace inside him to radiate love. He hadn’t exhibited his angelic nature so openly since he was assigned to Earth, and he could sense his halo growing brighter as it reflected the light of that love.

It wasn’t enough. It never could be. But that didn’t stop Aziraphale from praying that the Son could find some comfort in this gesture.

What seemed like only the span of a breath later, He pulled away.

“It is time. Farewell, Aziraphale.”

* * *

Back in the present, Aziraphale felt his lip tremble, but made sure to show no other sign of emotion. The Son’s suffering was nearing its end, and the angel was grateful that the peace of Heaven would soon envelop Him.

Would this be enough to save humanity? The eventual Apocalypse had not been erased from his celestial awareness, so apparently the Crucifixion would not stop the War of Everything that was in the universe’s future.

Nevertheless, Aziraphale was certain now that he would follow the example the Son had shown and do whatever he could to protect humanity as a whole. Offering his sword to them had been easy. Would he have the courage to make a much greater sacrifice to save them?

Aziraphale prayed that, when the moment came, he could find even a portion of the strength the Son had had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse quoted at the beginning of the chapter is Isaiah 53:5.  
The one that Aziraphale quotes later on is a portion of Matthew 4:5.


	23. Such Heavenly Touches

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: Shakespeare.
> 
> I decided to go a totally different path for this one than I had originally planned. So, of course, it got longer too. XD
> 
> Unfortunately, I am also behind in my prompts, but I'm determined to finish by the end of the month. So let's see what happens....
> 
> This chapter takes place a few months after the Notpocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: Teen to be safe

“Angel, you need to relax.”

Aziraphale blinked, peering over his glasses. “I thought I was relaxed. The shop is closed, I’m sitting here on the couch with you, and I’m currently reading the second volume of _A la Recherche du Temps Perdu_. I don’t see how I could be any more relaxed.”

“Yeah, but you’ve been reading the same page for fifteen minutes. And it took you ten to get through the last one.” Crowley sat up and scooted closer to Aziraphale.

“Something’s been bothering you for almost a week now,” he continued. “Ever since you got back from your last visit to Heaven. Is that what this is? Something happen while you were there?”

Ever since the Nearpocalypse, Heaven and Hell hadn’t communicated all that much with either of them. That came to an end when a messenger angel dropped by the bookshop with a request straight from the Metatron that Aziraphale come to receive new instructions: to continue to stay on Earth and work on Her behalf however he saw best.

They hadn’t discussed it much once Aziraphale got back, but Crowley doubted that that would be the end of it. Aziraphale’s withdrawn behavior for the rest of the week proved him right.

Aziraphale let out a long sigh and closed the book in his lap, sitting it to the side. “I didn’t expect to be welcomed back with open arms. I am aware that the only reason I wasn’t destroyed the moment I entered Heaven was because of that decree from Her that we be left alone. But I…I had hoped that Her declaration of forgiveness would lessen the severity of their contempt.”

_‘Instead that increased it,’_ Crowley finished for him. That wasn’t surprising to him. For all the talk about Divine Forgiveness, it was usually in very short supply among the majority of the Host.

Aziraphale shook his head and took his glasses off, putting them into his pocket. “No, it’s not even really that. I’ve known for a long time what they think of me. It’s more like the feeling I had just after I left. I suppose the only way I can describe it is a sort of disconnection. Or isolation.”

The angel looked over at him with a wan smile on his face. He placed a hand onto Crowley’s knee. “Dear, I am sorry. Your company is far preferable to the entire Host, but….”

“But it’s not the same,” Crowley nodded. He knew that he could say that being Fallen was the ultimate form of isolation from Heaven, but he also knew that that wasn’t the same either. Not when Aziraphale was still an angel and yet was cut off from most of Heaven.

He watched as Aziraphale drew his hand back into his lap and began twisting his fingers together, his posture even tenser than it was before. Seeing him hunched slightly forward, his arms pressed tight to his sides, Crowley finally got an idea of what to do.

“How about a massage?” Aziraphale blinked hard again, but this time it was accompanied by a rush of red to his cheeks.

“A, a what?! Er….”

“You heard me, a massage.” Crowley leaned toward him, tilting his head to the side. “Have you ever had one?”

Aziraphale cleared his throat. “Er, no. I’m not…angels are supposed to be the ones giving comforting touches, not….”

“Yes, I know,” Crowley sighed waving his hand. “But this isn’t Heaven, and you don’t have to live by their rules anymore.” He picked up one of Aziraphale’s hands and caressed it. “It’ll feel good, angel. I promise, you’ll love it.”

The red on Aziraphale’s face increased, but what truly warmed Crowley’s heart was the trust that filled the angel’s eyes as he nodded his head.

“All right. So, er, what do we do?”

* * *

A couple minutes later, the two of them were in Aziraphale’s bedroom. A few quick miracles pushed the bed to the side of the room, conjured up a massage table, and made a second table of oils and towels appear.

Aziraphale watched Crowley prepare the room with wide eyes. “Have you…have you done this before?”

“Once or twice,” Crowley said with a shrug. “I got to know a few masseuses during a temptation scheme I had going on in Manchester.”

“Oh, um,” Aziraphale tugged at his bowtie. “Did you use it a lot for your…for work?”

Crowley smiled at him. “You mean did I use massage for tempting people? Nah, it wasn’t that kind of massage, angel.” He came up behind Aziraphale and gently placed his hands onto the angel’s shoulders.

“Most of the people weren’t looking for that sort of thing,” he added. “Oh sure, one or two were, but most of them…they just needed someone to touch them.” He clasped Aziraphale’s shoulders, noting the soft gasp he got in response.

“I think you do too, angel. Even if you don’t know how to ask for it.”

Aziraphale pulled in a shuddering breath. “Crowley, I…I….” Crowley shushed him and lifted one hand to stroke his cheek.

“It’s all right,” he murmured. “I’ll take care of you, Aziraphale. I promise.”

The sound in Aziraphale’s throat could have been a sob or simply shock. There was no way to know. All Crowley did know was that the angel spun around to embrace him tightly and press his face against Crowley’s shoulder.

They stayed that way for a full minute until Aziraphale finally pulled away and slipped his arm out of one of the sleeves of his jacket.

“I suppose I should….”

“Yeah,” Crowley said, turning his face away. “I’ll go warm up some of this oil. Just lie face down on the table when you’re ready.”

It was odd, this need to turn away while Aziraphale undressed. Both of them had seen the other one naked more than once. Then again, Crowley was aware that Aziraphale had a strong aversion to being watched or stared at in any situation.

The angel would probably make an exception for him, but Crowley didn’t want to make him do that. Not when this was supposed to be about soothing Aziraphale’s nerves. 

“I’m ready,” a small voice said behind him.

Crowley nodded and picked up one of the bottles of oil. It was scented with lavender, a good choice for Aziraphale he figured. He held it in his hands and let the heat that was always just under his skin warm it.

Then he turned and smiled at the sight in front of him. Of Aziraphale lying on his stomach, his arms folded up near his head and his head craned to watch Crowley.

As he drew closer, he noted shivers coursing through the angel’s body. He stepped back just long enough to grab some towels from the stand.

“Relax, angel,” he murmured as he heated each towel up and draped them around Aziraphale’s body. Aziraphale had left on his boxers, but had removed everything else, and Crowley imagined that some of that shivering was just a slight chill due to having far skin exposed than he was used to.

Once he had covered the lower part of the angel’s body and offered him a warm towel to rest his head onto, Crowley could see some of Aziraphale’s tension ease. The angel lowered his face onto the towel while Crowley poured some of the oil onto his hands.

_‘Who will believe my verse in time to come/ If it were fill’d with your most high deserts?’_

Crowley hummed and smiled. He remembered the day Shakespeare wrote that. Or rather, the day the two of them pieced it together. Crowley was still hanging around the Globe Theater, helping _Hamlet_ become a success and was tossing out a spare line here and there to move his latest sonnet along.

What he didn’t share was that he’d been thinking about Aziraphale the whole time. About the way the angel’s face lit up when they saw each other again and how Aziraphale’s smile could warm him in a way Hellfire never could.

Throughout their impromptu writing session, Shakespeare had prodded at him to reveal the inspiration for his words, but Crowley refused. Eventually, the bard gave up, but not before getting the true final word in.

_“Whoever they are, they must be a beauty beyond compare. Just as your poetic words say.”_

_‘You have no idea,’_ he had thought at the time. How could any human understand the beauty of an angel? Shakespeare’s words would be far more accurate than he could ever know.

Crowley walked up to the table and placed his hands onto Aziraphale’s shoulders, clasping and then kneading at the muscles that were clenched tight. Aziraphale gulped, but then leaned into the touch.

“C-Crowley….”

“Shh,” Crowley said, leaning in to lightly kiss the shell of Aziraphale’s ear. “Just let yourself enjoy this.”

Aziraphale let out a long, contented sigh as his body sagged against the table. Crowley continued to ease out each tightly wound knot in Aziraphale’s shoulders and neck. The lavender scent spread outward, cresting with each touch.

Crowley’s smile grew. The sunlight coming in through one of the windows made Aziraphale’s hair glow, making the faint halo that Crowley always saw around the angel’s head shimmer slightly in response. Soft sighs filled Crowley’s ears, making his heart swell with affection.

_‘If I could write the beauty of your eyes/ And in fresh numbers number all of your graces/ The age would come to say, “his poet lies”’_

_‘Such heavenly touches ne’er touch’d earthly faces.’_

As Crowley’s hands traveled down Aziraphale’s back, his eyes took in every curve and fold of the angel’s body. His hands massaged, but also caressed every inch of skin that they touched.

_I love you_. Every stroke was an echo of this one thought that continued in an endless chain in Crowley’s mind. _I love you, angel. I love every part of you. Let me touch you, hold you, comfort you._

Crowley began to knead Aziraphale’s calves. Legs that had stood strong in the face of darkness and suffering. Feet that had remained firmly grounded when others would have fled from the pain and misery confronting them.

As he worked downward, Crowley continued to hear Aziraphale sigh and then moan in pleasure. When was the last time anyone had touched him tenderly? Did anyone in Heaven do it? Unlikely. All the angels aside from Aziraphale that Crowley had met were not the types who believed in touch founded on gentleness and care. Humans? Possibly, but even then Aziraphale kept himself remote from most everyone around him.

The cold truth was that Aziraphale was probably touched starved for centuries and was still adjusting to getting even the smallest scraps of physical affection within their relationship.

Crowley carefully guided Aziraphale to roll over onto his back. The angel’s eyes were closed, but his expression was slack ecstasy. He bent down to give Aziraphale a light kiss to the forehead before rubbing his fingertips along the angel’s temples and then down the sides of his head.

Once he was done, he ran his hands down Aziraphale’s cheeks. “How do you feel?” he whispered.

Aziraphale’s eyes opened, and Crowley stopped breathing for a few seconds as the blue of the ocean nearly drowned him. Then a smile brighter than sunlight brought him back.

“Crowley,” Aziraphale breathed. “Dearest….”

Crowley moved from behind Aziraphale to stand over him, placing his hand back onto Aziraphale’s cheek. Seeing him like this, bliss suffusing his features, Crowley remembered why he chose to visualize Aziraphale’s face when he wanted to think of Heaven.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The lines quoted are Shakespeare's 17th sonnet. It really does seem like something Crowley would think of about Aziraphale.


	24. Every Sweet Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: St. James' Park.
> 
> This takes place a month after the Notpocalypse. The title of the chapter comes from the poem "Someday" by Natalie Ducey.
> 
> Rating: G

“We really should go on a picnic.”

Crowley blinked, his tongue paused in mid lick on his strawberry ice lolly.

“A picnic? Today?” he said once the surprise had worn off. “Angel, it’s got to be in the mid thirties out here. And that’s in the shade.”

“Oh I don’t mean today,” Aziraphale said, wrinkling his nose. “It is much too hot for it and the heat would likely spoil the lovely pate I would want to pack for our lunch.” He bit the end of the Flake sticking out of his ice cream cone and sighed as he swallowed it.

“But I did promise you a picnic, and we haven’t gotten around to it. It doesn’t seem right at all.”

Crowley wrapped his tongue all the way around his lolly and slurped at it a couple of times before answering.

“Ok, so let’s do it.” He bit the end off and swallowed it in one gulp. “Do you want to have it here? Because there are lots of places we could go, you know.”

Aziraphale smiled as he licked at his ice cream. “Like where?”

“Well, there are other parks in London for a start,” Crowley replied. “We could go to Hyde Park and listen to the weirdos give speeches. Or we could go to Kensington Gardens.”

“Yes, all those lovely flowers,” Aziraphale said, nodding. “I’m sure you could find plenty of inspiration for your own garden there.”

Crowley stuck the rest of his lolly into his mouth and then pulled out a perfectly clean stick. Aziraphale rolled his eyes as he watched the bulge in Crowley’s mouth disappear down his throat, and then they started to walk near the pond.

“It doesn’t even have to be here in London,” Crowley continued. “We could go to the _Parc des Butte Chaumont_. Or we could go to _Ueno_ Park and watch the cherry blossoms.”

“I’m afraid it’s rather too late in the year for that, my dear,” Aziraphale said, taking another bite of his Flake.

“Nothing a convenient miracle couldn’t fix,” Crowley said. “Or we could go later. I know how much you love watching the cherry blossoms.”

“I do. My, when was the last time we went together? I think it was while Edo was still the capital city of Japan.”

“It was,” Crowley said. “And that’s why we should get back there this next spring. Lots of places to get top notch sake to enjoy while we watch.”

Crowley had twirled his lolly stick as they walked, but then he spotted a canister to toss it into. He smirked as it hit the ground and then disappeared into the wastebasket less than a second later.

“There are also some great places across the pond,” he added. “There’s Central Park or that place in San Diego. Or we could just go down to the tropics and have a picnic on a private beach.”

Aziraphale’s smile grew as he finished the rest of his Flake and started on what remained on his ice cream. Meanwhile, Crowley drifted closer to him as they walked.

“We don’t even have to stay on Earth, angel.”

Aziraphale chuckled. “Alpha Centauri?”

“Why not? I told you that there are lots of spare planets out there. You can find gardens there that could rival Eden.”

Aziraphale turned his gaze to watch a pair of children who were chasing a rolling ball and who almost ran into a couple who were holding hands as they strolled.

“It all sounds lovely, dear. Let’s do all of them.”

“All of them?” Crowley said, his eyes widening. It didn’t take long though for him to recover with a smirk. “Ok, sure. All of them. But you got to pick a place to start.”

Aziraphale stopped walking and bit into his cone, chewing and swallowing it before replying.

“I think right here would be the perfect place to begin.”

Crowley’s face twisted into a half frown. “Here? But we go here all the time.”

“I know. That’s why I want to have it here.” Aziraphale looked over at him, beaming. “There’s not a place in this entire park where I don’t have a memory of you. Just over there is where the bench we sat on the first time we met here used to be. Who knows how many hours we wiled away near that duck pond. And that tree over there, that’s where you told me about your summer in Germany back in the 1708. I remember dreaming of how lovely it would have been if we had spent that summer together.”

Aziraphale put the rest of his cone into his mouth and swallowed it down only seconds later. Then he reached for one of Crowley’s hands.

“I can’t think of a better place to share a moment like our first picnic together than somewhere that is so steeped in my memories of you.”

As the seconds ticked by, Crowley’s face became as red of the ice cream treat he had just finished. Then he looked down and their hands. “Er, your hand is sticky, angel.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I suppose it is. I could miracle it clean. Or I could let…”

Crowley’s fingers curled around his, the hold vice-like. “Don’t you dare.”

Then they continued to walk. Aziraphale’s hand remained sticky with drops of ice cream which grew slightly slick with the heat of the angel’s skin.

And Crowley couldn’t imagine anything feeling anything more amazing than the sensation of their fingers intertwined. 


	25. Welcome  to the Banquet of the Brave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: fantasy.
> 
> This takes place a year or two after the Notpocalypse. The name of the chapter is from the poem "The Last Hero" by G.K. Chesterton.
> 
> Rating: Teen for just a touch of spiciness.

“You want to what?!”

Aziraphale smiled, but Crowley wasn’t fooled. That was the smile the angel got when he knew he had said something that would fluster Crowley. Not that Azirazphale would admit that he knew all along that it would.

“I want to make a fantasy of yours come true,” Aziraphale repeated. His smile transformed into something far less flippant as he picked up one of Crowley’s hands.

“You’ve done so much for me. Protected me, saved me so many times.” He placed feather-light kisses on Crowley’s knuckles while keeping his gaze locked on the demon’s eyes. “I want to do something that is just for you.”

“Aziraphale….” Crowley’s face reddened while his breathing stuttered. “Angel, you don’t…you don’t have to….”

“I know. This isn’t obligation, Crowley. I love you and I want to be the one to show you this time.”

The heat in Crowley’s face increased, but he didn’t pull his hand away. That look in Aziraphale’s eyes, that wanton yet determined look, always turned Crowley into a gibbering mess. And Aziraphale knew about that too and had made that request anyway.

No, not _anyway_. Aziraphale had made sure to do it this way so that Crowley would be too far gone to think of a way to dodge the request.

“All those years that you stared at me and never acted, never said a word,” Aziraphale murmured, drawing closer to him. “Please tell me what you thought about.”

Unable to contain the feelings Aziraphale was stirring up within him, Crowley lunged forward, placed his hands onto the angel’s face and kissed him. Aziraphale reached up and held onto Crowley’s wrists while leaning into those kisses. He gave Crowley full access to his mouth, but he wasn’t completely relinquishing control either.

When Crowley broke away, he did not move backward. He kept his lips inches from Aziraphale’s and stroked the angel’s cheek.

“There is something, yeah,” he rasped out. His hands moved downward and he began to fiddle with Aziraphale’s bowtie. “Something I’ve dreamed about.”

* * *

“Really, my dear, I had no idea that cinematographic shows could affect you so much,” Aziraphale said from behind his bedroom door.

“Oh and like you haven’t read similar books,” Crowley scoffed while leaning against the wall next to the door. “Or are you going to tell me that that stunt you pulled in the church with the Nazis had nothing to do with those espionage books I found in that one back corner?”

“I was trying to combat the forces of evil.”

“And in the most dramatic way possible,” Crowley said with a snicker. “So I think it’s my turn to have some fun.”

Aziraphale harrumphed, and Crowley cackled. He had already changed into the outfit he was going to wear and thought that he looked every bit like the super spy he imagined himself to be. He wore a black turtleneck with a black blazer and finely tailored black slacks. He tied his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail and wore snakeskin boots with a snake design on the soles. He even filled his pockets with gadgets that he figured a spy could use like pen that had a mini computer inside and a cigarette lighter with a compass.

Basically, he was ready for any adventure he could find…which would start with taking his angel out on the town.

“I hope you’ll like it. I’m afraid it might be rather old fashioned.”

Crowley moved from his space against the wall to stand in front of the door as Aziraphale stepped out. The angel changed from his usual attire into a suit that appeared to come from a Victorian age that never happened. His jacket reached down his waist in the front and to his knees in the back and was made of a dark plum brocade fabric. The designs in the fabric were golden spirals, small and tightly curled. His waistcoat underneath was made of the same material and both the jacket and the waistcoat had polished gold buttons. He wore a white shirt underneath and a plum purple cravat around his neck. Like Crowley, his slacks were also black and tailored, but his were less form fitting.

It was very Aziraphale…and yet not. It was also making Crowley’s heart flutter.

Aziraphale took in Crowley’s outfit, his face falling. “Oh dear, I should have tried for something far more modern. Although, technically, this is modern as it was made for me ten years ago as a present to repay a favor. The person who made it for me said it was something called ‘steam-punk’. I wasn’t sure what that meant, but it was quite well made and….”

Crowley strode over and silenced Aziraphale with a sudden kiss, his arms pressing the angel close to him. By the time they had finished, both of them were breathless.

“I like it, angel,” Crowley murmured. “It’s perfect.”

Aziraphale beamed at him. “I’m so glad. I…I thought….”

The angel’s lips moved soundlessly, silent with hesitation. Crowley reached up and cupped his cheek with his hand.

“What did you think?”

Aziraphale blinked slowly and tilted his head up. “I thought you’d prefer more of the traditional damsel-in-distress. Beautiful, seductive, and elegant. Turns heads when they walk into a room. The sort of person who the hero would fight the whole world for.”

Crowley raised his other hand and placed it on the other side of Aziraphale’s face, his fingers fanning out as he moved even closer.

“Aziraphale, I’d fight Heaven and Hell for you. Anyone who couldn’t understand why I would is far too blind to matter.”

Crowley let his sunglasses slip down the bridge of his nose so his golden eyes could lock onto Aziraphale’s ocean blue ones. The angel stared at him silently, hypnotized by the look in Crowley’s eyes.

Crowley let one arm drop so he could wrap it around Aziraphale’s waist while his other hand moved back to cradle the back of the angel’s head. When he kissed him this time, it was possessive, a claim to hold what was his close to his heart. Aziraphale responded by closing his eyes and melting into the kiss while wrapping his arms around the demon to cling to him.

Crowley slowly moved Aziraphale back against the wall, grinding his hips against him as he did so. He ran his hands all over the angel, a giddy heat spreading throughout his body when he heard a breathless moan in his ear.

“Oh Crowley,” Aziraphale gasped out. He leaned heavily against Crowley, letting the demon pick him up into a bridal carry.

Crowley held him tightly; snapping his fingers to open the bedroom door back up and walking inside.

“Dear, what about our night out? I thought you wanted….”

Crowley pressed his lips against Aziraphale’s again before lowering the angel onto the bed. He could try to explain to Aziraphale that he never felt as powerful or more like a hero than when the angel was in his arms.

But then he figured that it would be better to show him. There would be plenty of time for the rest of the fantasy later.


	26. De Facto

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I know it's late for Inktober, but I'm so close to finishing and would hate to discard the chapters I have drafted and/or written. So yeah, this will be wrapped up slowly over the next week.
> 
> The prompt for this chapter is: confession.
> 
> This takes place about six months after the Nopepocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: G

“Crowley, I don’t deserve you.”

Crowley blinked hard. Up until just now, it had been a typical evening post-Almostpocalypse. Two months ago, they had decided to take a long holiday outside of London and had moved in together at a cottage Aziraphale had bought fifty years ago as a backup residence.

That morning, Crowley had made crepes, and Aziraphale had read some of Donne’s poems to him while he worked. After spending a relaxing and vocal afternoon in the garden, Crowley had come in to find Aziraphale sitting near a window with a book in his lap that he wasn’t actually reading.

So, Crowley made a cup of the angel’s favorite cocoa and poured himself two fingers of scotch. He sat on the couch next to Aziraphale and silently encouraged him to share whatever was bothering him.

When Aziraphale finally worked up the nerve to say that he had a confession to make, Crowley had hoped that it would be something prosaic. Like “I threw away that terrible sweater you gave me last week” or “I never liked watching The Golden Girls with you” or maybe even “that one temptation that happened in Berlin ten years ago was actually one of mine that had gone horribly wrong”.

He certainly wasn’t expecting anything as painful as what Aziraphale actually said.

“You think that an angel doesn’t deserve the love of a demon?” Crowley said, his voice both tight and deliberately humorous. “I’d say that makes two of us.”

Aziraphale shook his head, waving his hands back and forth for emphasis. “No, no, that’s not what I mean at all, my dear. I, I mean….”

The angel paused and took a deep breath while Crowley’s stomach clenched. Aziraphale got that look on his face when he was certain that he was about to be punished for something and was trying to figure out how he would deal with the consequences. But then hopeless resignation took over, and Crowley’s heart broke even more at the sight.

“I haven’t loved you as much as you have loved me,” Aziraphale said in a whisper, his eyes fixed on the floor, the fingers wrapped around his angel-wing mug trembling.

Crowley gulped down the rest of his scotch with one loud swallow. There were a lot of directions that he could take that statement, several of which were the old and bitterly familiar ones. However, when he saw how Aziraphale’s eyes shined and the wobble in his lip, Crowley knew which one of them was hurt more by this confession.

“So what?” he said with a nonchalance he did not feel. “Last time I checked, being in a relationship is not a competition.”

Aziraphale’s fingers shook even more, and Crowley worried that the angel would shatter the mug in his hands. He took it from Aziraphale and set it down onto the settee. The angel gulped, his chest heaving.

“No, it’s not meant to be one.” Aziraphale raised his head. “Oh Crowley, I do love you with all my heart. But I, I can’t stop thinking about it. What I feel could never come anywhere close to your love.”

“Aziraphale, what are you…?”

“Don’t you see?” Aziraphale cried, turning his face away. “You told me that you’ve loved me since we met, since Eden. But I…it wasn’t that way for me. It was so much later before I knew. And then when I did know, I was too much of a coward to act on it. I never told you. Not until you told me. I never…I never….”

“Angel….”

“And, and before that, I was so _terrible_ to you,” Aziraphale continued, his voice cracking. “I threw the fact that you’re a demon in your face like a condemnation. No…like a justification. And oh, that’s so much worse. Because I wanted to believe in Heaven. I wasn’t just a coward. I was selfish too. And, and how…how can you…?”

Crowley grabbed one of Aziraphale’s hands. “Angel, listen to me. It’s not….” He sighed and took a deep breath. “Look, I forgive you, all right? I forgave you a long time ago. So don’t worry about it. Please?”

Aziraphale looked at him again just as a pair of tears slipped down his cheeks. “How can you?” he asked, his voice garbled by the wet squeak in it. Crowley reached over and wiped the tears away.

“Because I remember what Heaven was like,” Crowley said, his tone hard, but not harsh. “And whatever you might have said or think you felt…Aziraphale, you’re really a terrible liar, you know that?”

Aziraphale blinked. “I, I don’t….”

“Sure, you were always going on and on about the righteousness of Heaven and what they believed in,” Crowley said. “But if you really believed all that, why did you choose to be kind to a demon who had just initiated the Fall of Humanity? You could have just smote me.”

“I, I knew you were just doing a job…you…She didn’t destroy Adam and Eve, so I thought…I thought that it would be wrong to punish you for a mistake.”

“Right, and since when does Heaven forgive demons for their mistakes?” Crowley said, nodding. He brushed away more tears and then cupped Aziraphale’s hand in both of his. “And that’s on top of what you did for those humans. You gave them your sword so they’d have a chance out there, even though they made their own mistakes.”

“Yes, and we’ve seen the use War got out of my sword,” Aziraphale responded, bitter.

Crowley shook his head. “That wasn’t you, angel. That was Free Will. Isn’t that what you’ve always told me whenever I’ve felt bad about how far one of my temptations went? How many mistakes have I made that you’ve forgiven me for even though it meant so much suffering for the humans?”

“I…I….”

“And ok, maybe you didn’t fall in love with me right away in the hearts and flowers and romantic dinners sort of way, but so what? You think I forgot about what happened when you found me in that pub during the Spanish Inquisition? About how you took care of me?”

“I, I thought…well, we did have an Arrangement, after all….”

“Yeah, but did that Arrangement mean you had to stay with me for over a month? Staying at my bedside when my corporation reacted so badly to all that alcohol? Taking care of me whenever I got sick all over myself and when I didn’t have a lucid thought in my head for a week?”

“You could have died,” Aziraphale whispered. “Er, been discorporated. And it wouldn’t have been a pleasant sort of way to go. I, I had to do something.”

“Of course you did,” Crowley said, squeezing his hand. “Because you loved me. Call it what you want, but I’m pretty sure it was love. Same as when you risked being burned alive to save me from that armory during that huge fire in New Orleans. Remember that one? Back in 1788?”

“I remember,” Aziraphale said with a sniff. “For a moment, I thought I was too late.”

“Yeah, well thank Somebody you didn’t give up and went in there anyway,” Crowley said. “I was already on thin ice with Beelzebub over a botched job in the city a few weeks ago. If I had been discorporated too…let’s just say it would have been _a lot_ longer before you would have seen me again.”

Crowley gathered up Aziraphale’s other hand into his. “Point is, angel, I knew you loved me, no matter what you said. Or rather, what you parroted from Heaven. Did you think it mattered to me that it wasn’t the same kind of love I had? That I’d care about whether or not we kissed or exchanged soppy love letters when I, an actual demon, had the love of an angel?”

Aziraphale gasped, making a sound somewhere between a sob and a laugh. “I thought you liked my letters.”

Crowley snorted. “Of course I do. But even if I never got a single one, even if we always stayed at where we were at the beginning of the Arrangement, it didn’t change anything. Not for me.”

“Crowley….” Apparently unable to elaborate on that, the angel scooted over and wrapped his arms around him. Crowley immediately reciprocated, relieved that the choked sounds he heard were not reaching down any further than Aziraphale’s throat.

“I love you, my dearest,” Aziraphale murmured into his ear, his lips ghosting around the edges of it. Crowley ducked his head down so he could start kissing the angel’s neck.

“I know you do,” he said. “I’ve always known. Always.”


	27. Barriers Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still working on finishing this, I swear....
> 
> Anyway, this prompt for this chapter is: wings.
> 
> This takes place about two years after the Notpocalypse. 
> 
> Rating: Teen to be safe because there are some mentions injury and pain.

“Angel? Are you all right?”

Aziraphale started and looked at Crowley with a hasty smile. “Oh yes, everything’s tickety….”

Crowley frowned. “Angel, if you say ‘tickety-boo’, I’ll set your Oscar Wilde’s on fire.”

Aziraphale’s lips formed an ‘o’. “You wouldn’t dare,” he spluttered.

Indignation lit up Aziraphale’s eyes which relieved some of the tension that had been building up inside Crowley. At least the angel could still be offended. That was a comforting sign.

“I might,” Crowley said with a half smirk. “I still haven’t forgiven you for the mess you got us into just so you could get that copy of _A House of Pomegranates_.”

“That was hardly my fault. No reasonable person would respond to an offer of generous financial compensation with a request for a gun duel.”

“And no sane person would stick around to see what happens after a threat like that.” Crowley sighed and gave him a fond smile. “Come on, angel quit trying to change the subject. You’ve had that look on your face like someone actually managed to worm a book away from you all morning. What’s wrong?”

It wasn’t just the expression on Aziraphale’s face that had Crowley worried. There was also pallor the angel had and the way his features were pinched with pain. Aziraphale’s step had been sluggish and punctuated with the occasional stumble. Now, beads of sweat were appearing on the angel’s forehead, and Crowley refused to put his questions off any longer.

Aziraphale shook his head and pulled a small handkerchief that had embroidered golden wings on the corners out of his pocket. He wiped his forehead with it and frowned when he pulled it away from his face.

“I, I’m afraid I might have to make an appointment to visit Heaven soon. And I’m really not looking forward to it.”

Crowley let out a huge breath. Neither of them visited their former head offices in the two years since they had been released after the Nearpocalypse. Although he never said a word about it, Crowley was certain that Aziraphale dearly wanted to avoid Heaven.

However, if the angel was truly ill, a visit to Heaven might be necessary. The fact that Aziraphale was considering it meant that, whatever this was, it was serious.

“Why?” Crowley asked. He hadn’t meant for that to come out as an accusation, but the worry that had frayed his nerves had also stretched his vocal cords past sounding casual or simply concerned.

“I….” Aziraphale cast his eyes downward. “It’s my wings. I think there is something wrong with them.”

At that moment, Crowley was grateful for the sunglasses on his face because he doubted that he could hide the terror that was sure to widening his eyes. While their wings were usually kept out of the physical plane, that didn’t meant that they could be ignored or that they couldn’t be injured.

Even worse, because an angel and a demon’s wings were so intertwined with their True Self, a severe injury or a minor one that was neglected could spread to the rest of the non-corporeal form. And if that was allowed to happen…it meant a death as sure and as permanent as one delivered with holy water or Hellfire.

“What happened?” Crowley said, his voice morphing into a low growl.

“I…there was a demon who visited the shop a couple of weeks ago,” Aziraphale replied. “They was looking for you. But after I refused to tell them anything, I suppose they decided to get rid of me before continuing their search.”

Crowley’s hands curled into fists, his jaw tightening. “I warned them. Looks like I’ll have to….”

“No, not really,” Aziraphale said, holding up a hand. “I already Smote them. Quite decisively too. They won’t be back for a long while. But I’m afraid they did manage to land a nasty gash to my right wing before I dispatched it. I, I thought I could take care of it on my own….”

“Open your wings,” Crowley cut in. Aziraphale took a step back from him, and Crowley struggled to ignore the twist in his heart at the sight. “Look, I’m not going to do anything to them unless you want me to, but we got to see how bad the damage is, right? So please, angel. For me?”

That last part was blackmail, and Crowley knew it, but he was too worried to focus on that right now. He would deal with the repercussions of that later when he knew that Aziraphale was going to be all right.

The angel ducked his head and nodded. Slowly, he pulled his wings out of the celestial plane and into the physical one. Once they were fully out, Crowley did another sharp intake of breath.

Aziraphale’s wings were beautiful, but they were also horribly messy, full of broken and disheveled feathers and what looked like a molt that hadn’t been completely cleared away. Worst of all though, was a long slash in the upper part of the right wing. The wound was scarlet through the fluff of sparse feathers that stuck to it and it was trickling stray drips of a green ooze.

“Aziraphale,” he breathed. “This…this is….”

“Crowley…I’m, I’m afraid that I….”

The angel put his hand to his forehead again, his eyelids fluttering and his posture wavering. Crowley immediately took the hint and rushed over just in time to catch him before Aziraphale fell face first onto the floor.

_‘Shit! Shit, shit, shit...!’_ “Hey, I’ve got you,” Crowley said, struggling to sound reassuring. “Ok, I’ve got you. Can you walk? Angel? Hey, can you hear me?”

Aziraphale didn’t respond. His head flopped onto Crowley’s shoulder, and the demon didn’t have to see his face to know that Aziraphale was likely unconscious by now. Deciding not to waste any more time on conversation, Crowley hoisted Aziraphale over his shoulder, the angel’s wings draped around him like a shroud.

“It’s ok,” Crowley babbled. “It’ll be all right. We’ll get you fixed up and it’ll be fine. Just hold on, Aziraphale, ok? I’ve got you.”

He continued the steady stream of comforting nonsense while using a miracle to move both of them to the bedroom and as he lowered Aziraphale onto the bed. A bed which suddenly became much larger and wider to accommodate the wings and both of them being on it. Crowley snapped his fingers to brighten the light in the room, because despite the discomfort it would cause, he needed to be able to see even the smallest details of what he was doing.

Crowley ripped the sunglasses off his face and tossed them aside as he climbed onto the bed. He turned Aziraphale face down so he could examine the wing from a better angle.

_‘Don’t think it has spread through the whole wing yet. So at least there’s that. Hard to tell though with how they look right now….’_

Crowley frowned. It was obvious that the angel hadn’t taken care of his wings at all and the neglect had exacerbated the trauma of the wound. He was going to have a talk with Aziraphale about this when the angel woke up, but for now, he needed to focus on the bigger problem at hand.

“Angel, if you can hear me, I’m going to treat your wound, all right? So, I’m going to have to touch you and….”

_That_ got a response, but not one Crowley had hoped for. Aziraphale’s wings trembled, curling away from him and there was a pained whimper. Whispers laced with shame and agony.

_“Please…please don’t, Crowley…please….”_

_‘Damn him.’_ Crowley’s eyes stung. To do nothing would mean death, and he already knew which he would prefer if he had to decide between Aziraphale loathing him and Aziraphale not existing.

“Aziraphale,” he said, his voice deliberately stern. “If I don’t take care of this…you know what will happen. I’m sorry, I know you don’t want me to do this, but…ngk….”

He could have said more. He was a tempter, and damn good at his job. He should have been able to find the words to convince Aziraphale, but words could break through the hurt he felt at the husky sob he heard from the angel.

‘_Please_,’ Crowley’s heart cried out. _‘Please, Aziraphale…’_

Slowly, awkwardly, Aziraphale’s wings stretched out again, still trembling, but steady enough so that Crowley could work.

_‘Right….’_ Crowley snapped his fingers and a stack of soft, green towels appeared on the stand next to the bed. Another snap and some tonics he had stored at his flat sat next to them.

There was so much Crowley wanted to do to Aziraphale’s wings. Not just heal them, but fix them. Straighten and clean them so that they could be as beautiful as Crowley remembered them being in Eden. But doing more than what was necessary to save Aziraphale’s life would be a violation of trust at this point. As much as he burned to do more, he swore to himself he would make this quick.

Crowley looked through his tonics, chose one, and sprinkled a tiny pool of it onto his hand. “Ok, this will sting a little, but I promise it will help, ok?”

There was no response, but Crowley knew better than to assume that Aziraphale hadn’t heard him. More likely, the angel just shut himself down to conserve his strength and as a way to cope with what was coming. But Aziraphale was probably still aware, and Crowley made sure that that remained at the forefront of his brain throughout this.

Gingerly, he rubbed the tonic into the wound. Aziraphale moaned and shuddered, but did not open his eyes or make any other sound. Crowley rubbed the excess away with one of the towels, mopping up the green goo that had congealed on the nearby feathers.

Crowley took a deep breath. “Ok, this is going to be the worst of it. But I’m going to make this as fast as possible, I promise.”

There was still no reply from the inert form on the bed. Crowley slowly blinked and then placed his hands on either side of the wound. A harsh cry rang out, and Crowley almost let go. But then he reminded himself that this was coming and held on.

Then he closed his eyes and focused everything into drawing out the poison and repairing the damaged flesh. The poison turned his stomach. The knitting of soft tissue drained him. But Crowley was sure that none of it could compare to how dreadful Aziraphale felt right now.

Once he was certain that the wound was purified and healed, Crowley let go, releasing a long sigh as he did. Aziraphale was completely out, boneless, his wings drooping over the sides of the bed.

Crowley scooted to the foot of the bed, lying down and curling into a ball on his side. He wanted to be there when Aziraphale woke up. He told himself it was just to make sure that Aziraphale was going to recover.

It hurt too much to acknowledge that it was also because he couldn’t bear the thought of Aziraphale being alone after all that.


	28. Habit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prompt for this chapter is: ring.
> 
> This takes place about three or so years after the Notpocalypse.
> 
> Rating: G

These days, Crowley couldn’t stop staring at his hand.

It hadn’t become a habit. At least, not yet anyway. It was a recent and increasingly frequent gesture. He wasn’t exactly hiding it from Aziraphale, although he usually saved doing it for when the angel wasn’t looking at him. And he was even more likely to do it when he was alone. Which wasn’t often these days.

Crowley lifted his left hand to his face and smiled as he turned it back and forth. Currently, he was lounging on the couch in the back area of Aziraphale’s bookshop. Aziraphale was puttering around up front, not actually selling a book to the customer in the shop, but being remarkably helpful in the search for another first edition of _Persuasion_.

Crowley twisted his thumb over to touch the ring finger. Throughout Earth’s history, he had worn a variety of jewelry, much of it snake-themed, as a way to blend in human cultures. He usually went with whatever was fashionable at the time or anything that appealed to his personal sense of style. When the pieces stopped being trendy, he usually gave them away and only kept a few pieces that had sentimental value.

But this ring, the ring on the fourth finger of his left hand, meant more to him than all the jewelry he had ever possessed.

It was a simple ring. Gold that was shaped into a pair of wings that were intertwined into an infinity symbol. In the center was a pair of stones, yellow chrysoberyl cat’s eye and lapis lazuli. It was also the most beautiful ring he had ever seen. The only one that compared was the one that was now on Aziraphale’s ring finger, also gold with the same stones and shape, but with snakes wound together instead of wings.

It had become the most beautiful ring on Earth the moment Aziraphale had placed it on his finger.

Crowley continued to stroke his thumb against the ring. He didn’t know when the conversation about marriage had actually started. Perhaps it had started during those nights they spent drinking and staring at the stars. Nights which had brought into focus that they had been companions of a sort for millennia and that now, they would be more than that for the rest of eternity.

Or could have been one of those afternoon picnics in the park. Sunny afternoons spent laying on a blanket, watching the clouds, and listening to Aziraphale call him “my dearest.” Those moments when Crowley knew that he wanted to spend the rest of his existence by the angel’s side.

Or maybe it was those sleepy mornings when Crowley greeted Aziraphale as he opened the bookshop. Crowley would have a coffee in one hand and a fresh cup of Aziraphale’s favorite cocoa in the other. Aziraphale would beam at him, and Crowley would realize that the rise of the sun held little meaning without the sight of an angel’s smile.

All Crowley was certain of was, after the Nearpocalypse, what they had was more than an Arrangement. It simply took them a couple more years to realize that they wanted to make a formal declaration of that fact.

Crowley smiled even more. It had actually been Aziraphale who had made the first move. Mr. “You Go Too Fast For Me” had shown up at dinner one night with a pair of rings in his pocket and had fallen to his knees in front of him. Aziraphale had held up the rings in his cupped hands with a hopeful expression. Silly angel. Crowley had said yes to this in his heart centuries ago. Aziraphale proposing this way was just going to make him cry. Which he definitely did not do…much….

The ceremony had been a private one. The two of them alone on a mountain top exchanging words and vows in an ancient tongue no human had ever spoken. Although they did have a small party near Tadfield with a few select friends afterward.

One year later, Crowley still wondered how the dearest wish of a demon could have come true. Was it possible that God listened to the prayers of the Fallen?

Or perhaps his pleas had simply reached the right person.

He was so caught up in these sweet thoughts, he didn’t notice Aziraphale finish with the customer upfront and come into the back area. Who knows how many moments passed before he finally looked up and saw Aziraphale staring at him with fond eyes.

Crowley moved his hands apart and sat up. “I, uh…ngk….”

He was about to grope for more words when Crowley saw it. The angel hand rubbing the fingers of his right hand over the ring on his left, a gesture that also looked familiar, comfortable, common.

Then Crowley gave up and let his thumb bent back to his own ring. He smiled, knowing that no words were necessary right now.

**Author's Note:**

> The original prompt list is here: https://theladyflamee.tumblr.com/post/187540210491/inktober-is-just-around-the-corner-and-in-the


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